


E-Brakes On

by stillalivedoingscience



Series: Redline-verse [2]
Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alt Modes, Alt-Mode Sexual Interfacing, Birthday Party, Birthday Sex, F/M, Mechanophilia, Robot Kink, Robot Sex, Robot/Human Relationships, Surprise Party, Truth or Dare
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-10-30 04:36:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10869255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stillalivedoingscience/pseuds/stillalivedoingscience
Summary: A little high grade, liquor, and a round or two of truth or dare - in the aftermath of her twenty-first birthday party, Mikaela realizes what Optimus's secret fantasy is, and decides to help make his wildest dreams come true.





	1. Drive, Baby, Drive

**Author's Note:**

> Mmm posting my progress on this one to this account in an effort to motivate myself to work on this thing again. My life. Has been. Insane. For months now. I can't breathh. & it ain't gonna get any better so WELP--
> 
> time to write robot porn? when in doubt write robot porn (yea the rating on this is gonna go way up eventually)
> 
> this is a continuation of my other story 'Redline' of sorts. ...someonepleasehelpmeohmygod

**Part 1**

.

_~One month or so before the events of Dark of the Moon_

Summer 2011 brought with it the most shatteringly hot afternoons on record. In the city, the heat was so extreme that you could cook a four-course meal right there on the sidewalk if you’d tried—the roadways were turned into seventeen long klicks of sheer sizzling hotness from one side of the place to the other. The miles-high skyscrapers did nothing but block the wind, and their millions of mirror-glass windows sent down a thousand more cubic tons of geothermal radiation onto the already-suffering citizens.

It was pure hell on earth, and on days like this, there was nothing for it. One had to hit the road.

It was that sweet smell of pavement, the rush of the wind in her hair that was so addicting. It was the pleasure of the open road, the promise of not stopping ‘til the sun went down. The intoxicating high of it was rivalled only by the speed of her Plymouth Fury nicknamed Christine’s pistons and the fires burning inside of her internal combustion chambers as Mikaela slammed that pedal to the metal and the cherry-red muscle car shot forward so fast you’d get whiplash if you tried to watch it fly by. It was freedom, it was fearlessness, and moreover, it was _Friday_.

_God, yes._

Today was the day that Mikaela had been waiting for. It was not just a regular Friday—even though Fridays were always her favorite day of the week—but _this_ Friday in particular happened to be Mikaela’s twenty-first birthday.

And it was not every day that a girl turned twenty-one. A hell of a day it had been already, too—she’d spent the morning in the shop with Cal and the boys, who had picked out a large, incredibly rich chocolate cake for her that had been decorated with a badly-iced picture of what was obviously supposed to be a depiction of good old Christine. After a slice and a complimentary cup of hot, strong coffee, she’d got to work, only to be let off early by Mike, who had given her his usual smoky grin (he had a habit of walking around the place with a honking pipe sticking out of his mouth), and had told her that she was free to go, so long as she made sure to get good and drunk tonight.

Of course, Mike was not allowed to know where exactly it was Mikaela was headed. Even Cal, who _thought_ he knew where she was going, did not know the exact details, not that it bothered him much—Cal had always had a lot of faith in Mikaela. Mikaela supposed that there were only so many times you could take your preteen daughter along with you as your partner on a car-jacking without developing a very strong bond of trust with her.

“So, when am I going to meet this guy?” was all that he had asked as he watched her head out the door at full speed, but she knew that he was mostly just kidding around. They’d already had that awkward father-and-daughter ‘new boyfriend’ conversation a couple months ago, and Mikaela had made it quite plain that it was mostly just a casual thing. This information had touched a nerve for Cal at first, but she had assured him that it was not because this ‘guy’ was not taking Mikaela seriously—but because he happened to have this unbelievably-crazy-ass time-consuming _career_ that was very important to him and usually demanded almost all of his energy except for the occasional weekend.

She also made sure to tell him just how far out of the city this guy lived, though of course without making it sound like he lived in the absolute middle of nowhere or something bizarre— _he’s a suburbs dude. Lots of money. Big house. Crazy parties—I’m kidding! We don’t party. His house is super boring except for the pool and there’s always a chaperone. His uh,_ parents _are always around. And you’d like them, they’re super… um, interesting_ was pretty much how she’d described it.

This was enough to satisfy Cal. Plus, if Mikaela was happy, so was he—and Mikaela recognized that Cal (even though he would never admit it), was sort of impressed by her information on mysterious-boyfriend thus far. Because, as a young woman who was just a couple years out of high school and who had spent the last two years with a boy who had had his share of problems (Sam), problems such as very noticeable levels of immaturity and a major lack of self-confidence, it was rather unexpected that she should land herself such a _mature-sounding,_ older guy… or at least that was how it had been when she’d described this so-called mr-we’re-totally-not-really-that-serious but-he’s-still-super-respectful-and-really-good-looking to Pat, back when Mikaela had found herself the subject of said Pat’s full attention and seemingly-endless tirade of boyfriend-related-questions.

This Pat came in the form of one super-attractive almost-fifty-five year-old woman whose sandy-blonde ringlets fell all the way to the leather-studded belt (which did absolutely nothing to hold up her painted-on jeans) who was the brand-new addition to the Banes household. She and Cal had been dating for nine, going on ten months now, and Mikaela didn’t mind her. She was nice, she absolutely adored Bonecrusher (who loved her very much back), and if anything, it made her disappearance out of town for the weekends really beneficial for everyone involved (especially because Mikaela could not take Bonecrusher with her and at least this way, the poor Pitbull didn’t pine too much while she was gone).

Only Pat had been somewhat annoying about her never bringing the guy that she was _seeing—like, dating, kind of going steady with but he’s not about to marry me or anything crazy_ around the house, but one single meaningful look from Cal was about enough to shut her up if he noticed that she was starting to get under Mikaela’s skin. And Mikaela knew another reason why he didn’t want Pat harping on about it, too—this had a lot to do with the conversation she’d had with her dad pretty much exactly a year ago, right after her and Sam had split (when she’d voiced her opinion that she was ‘fucking done’ with guys).

Cal knew that the break-up had stung her. Cal might not have done very smart things with his life thus far, but he was not a stupid guy, and seeing Mikaela hurt like that had hurt him. This was definitely part of the reason why he’d decided to give Christine to Mikaela with so little persuasion—after all, Christine _was_ a nice ride after they’d fixed her up. And if there was one thing that everybody knew had the power to cheer Mikaela up above all else, it was shiny, badass rides and driving _fast._  

And so, this was how Mikaela had ended up with a little extra time off during her birthday even before she’d hit the highway, destined for a weekend full of fun with Cal and Pat’s blessing. It was just enough time to stop by the liquor store before going home to get her things—‘cause what was a twenty-first without a couple of drinks, anyhow? Oh, yeah, she was going to have at least a _little_ to drink, and that was for _damn_ sure.

 Mikaela didn’t drink a lot, but staying sober on a night like this—when it was her birthday the weather was so fucking gorgeous and the tail-end of the afternoon promised nothing but gorgeous desert wasteland, fast cars, and open highway all the way out of town—would have been a goddamned travesty. So she picked up a bottle of something that looked like she could manage to choke it back if she tried hard enough, and sped home to grab a change of clothes and a shower before she’d dressed up in a cute, short black V-neck dress for the occasion.

The highway was even better than usual. Maybe it was the clear skies, the overwhelming smell of soft asphalt, baking earth, and hot desert sage; or else the daydreams of what was to come that were kickstarting the surges of adrenaline that were making her tingle right down to her toes. She wanted to scream and shout—or it might have just been the sensual rumble of the beloved, supercharged Fury she’d modded in her spare time back in Mike’s shop that was making her run just as hot as a V8. Whatever the reason behind her feeling so effing stoked, Mikaela didn’t care—all of her razor-sharp intent was focused on driving fast without getting caught, while the clock ticked down the further she got along that ever-more-familiar high-octane freeway that was curved like a goddamned model and led to, well ( _legally_ speaking, for confidentiality’s sake), the middle of ‘utterly nowhere’ U.S.A where ‘absolutely nothing’ existed.

‘Absolutely nothing’ being one super-hot Autobot leader who was currently expecting her arrival at ‘utterly nowhere’ (aka NEST base), knowing fully well that it was Mikaela’s twenty-first birthday, and who’d been promising a surprise of the likes she had no idea but _damn_ was it probably gonna be good. And this had only made Mikaela’s imagination run totally wild, because the kinds of things the two of them did together were not at all as she’d told Cal back at home, nope, no sirrie—chaperones be damned, the young woman was of age!  And the way that those seventeen tons of drop-dead gorgeous alien metal made her feel every time they were alone together was a gift from god himself already, so the suggestion of a surprise on _top_ of that had her split somewhere between major catatonia and emergency-grade heat stroke— _holy mother of god what is he planning_ was pretty much all she was capable of thinking right now.

And this just got worse and worse as time went on and on and the roar of Christine’s engine faded against the backdrop of the blood-pumping chorus of her favorite AC/DC songs while shadows surrounding the fire-engine-red Plymouth elongated on down the road. Deeper into the wasteland they ventured until evening swallowed them whole and, at length, spat them back out directly in front of NEST gate, Christine with a still-ticking motor and a hood radiating heat waves like an open propane heater and a whole lotta extra-intense sexual tension on Mikaela’s part.

God damn, she was about ready to freakin’ lose her mind! Newly twenty-one with no plans for the evening except whatever Optimus Prime himself had in store for her—now that was the kind of evening she could get used to!

She’d never been more excited to see NEST’s big, hulking chicken-wired gate before, and was nearly ecstatic when it split down the middle so that she could drive inside. She was _so_ excited that, for the first time ever, she did not even object to being poked and prodded with energon sweepers and didn’t even complain when she was awarded with an extra frisk on top of them, juuuust because it was her birthday. Once the gatekeepers were satisfied, Mikaela hopped back into Christine, turned the key, (savoring the way the Plymouth fired up with what felt like all of the electric anticipation she herself was feeling) and hit the gas, locking the E-brake to roll a little bit of rubber all down the tarmac just for fun.

 _Ha,_ serve the gatesmen right for giving her that extra frisk, she thought. She sure hoped they liked the scent of burnt rubber…

NEST base on Friday nights was usually pretty quiet. Tonight, however, the one thing Mikaela noticed more than anything else as she slowly approached the Autobot’s hangar, still excited as all-hell, was how particularly silent the base was. No one was around, not human nor Autobot alike—the airstrip was clear of helicopters and planes and all military-grade vehicles had been stowed away in their respective garages; the windows of the mess hall and rec room were blank and empty and only a few lights could be seen here and there shining from the soldiers’ quarters. What the heck?

Mikaela continued to crawl along, looking around in confusion. Where was everybody? And, most importantly, where was Optimus? The Autobot leader was almost always practically waiting for her out on the asphalt outside of his hangar the moment he heard that she was on base, as he had commanded the NEST gate officials to inform him of her arrival.

But this time, he wasn’t here. In fact, _no one_ was here.

There hadn’t been some kind of problem with the Decepticons, meaning that the Autobots and NEST officials had to suddenly take off somewhere for a battle or something, had there? Last she knew, the ‘bots hadn’t heard from a ‘Con in a good few months, as the terrifying arch-nemeses of the Autobots were currently laying low as per their leader Megatron, presumably—but something about this still didn’t feel right.

But just as Mikaela had slowed to a stop dead-center of the asphalt mat, contemplating turning around and going back to the gate to find someone to ask, something finally happened.

A ferocious vehicular _roar_ echoed around the empty tarmac, one that was so rough and wild and just plain _loud_ that there was only one Autobot it could have belonged to. Her heart skipped a beat as the sight of the enormous Peterbilt rounded the corner at the end of the strip at breakneck speed, blowing diesel smoke as his back tires spun out in a perfectly-controlled, ninety-degree drift, aimed straight for her. His clean lines were visible even in the dark, custom flames cut with mirror-glass chrome so smooth you could have sworn that it belonged to a truck straight outta the shop, and he was set for a head-on collision—but it was a game of chicken that she knew she’d win. It was the boss-bot’s way of showing off, and sure enough, the asphalt-shaking judder of the semi’s jake followed before he came to a stop, the front of his grill nearly touching the end of Christine’s nose.

“Damn it, boss,” said Mikaela slyly as she cut Christine’s engine and stepped smoothly from the car, shutting the door behind her as she approached the enormous and attractive semi-truck. For all the times she’d been around him, all the weekends she’d spent with him in the past year or so, it never got any easier to deal with just how good-looking he was, even in vehicle form. The big semi was chopped, slammed, and loaded just as dangerously as the ‘bot’s heavy artillery was, and there were just some things about that kind of a rig that couldn’t _not_ make any red-blooded human’s motor run, in Mikaela’s opinion.

“I mean,” she continued, clearing her throat pointedly as she tried her absolute _best_ not to stare too much or give away exactly what kinds of thoughts had been crossing the young woman’s mind mere moments ago (some of them being particularly fond, ah, _memories_ of afternoons the two of them had shared together lately), “I know it _is_ my birthday and everything, but you don’t have to show off _that_ much,” she grinned.

Optimus transformed before answering, bending down closer to her level like he usually did, braced with one knee on the ground. He was looking at her straight in the eye with what he clearly wanted to be an innocent expression, but she still caught the slight glimmer of amusement in the corners of his optics. “I can assure you, I was in no way ‘showing off’, as you have called it,” he growled, his slow, level voice making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up this close-to. “I was merely expressing how pleased I am to see you again.”

 _Yup_ , she thought. _He was totally showing off._ “Riiiiiight,” she teased back sarcastically, blinking a little more than usual because of the intensity of his gaze. “Because it has of course been absolute _ages_ since you last saw me.”

“It has felt like it.”

Mikaela felt the blood rush to her face automatically. “It hasn’t been that long!” she spluttered. “It’s only been two weeks!”

“A lot can happen in two earth weeks,” he answered, watching her closely as she walked right up to him with her hands on her hips, shaking her head in disbelief while trying her darnedest not to smile. “Have you been well?” he asked her.

But way before she could even begin to think up an answer, Optimus had reached out, and— _what the heck, she could not believe what she was seeing, here—_ the ‘bot was holding what was an actual bouquet of _roses_ in-between his forefinger and thumb with all the care in the world as if he was totally worried that he might accidentally squish them at any given moment by accident (which was probably a really justified concern, Mikaela reminded herself), and not only that, but he also had on this really adorable sheepish expression like he was actually kind of _shy_ about it _._

“…Oh… ohwow,” was all that she could manage.

“I have missed you,” said Optimus kindly, looking down at her with total fondness. “I have learned… and not through the world wide web, this time… I have consulted Major Lennox instead… and he has informed me that it is human tradition to gift your romantic interest the flowering earth-plant Rosa Centifola on each anniversary of their birth.”

Mikaela’s mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. She had, of course, been given flowers as a gift before by ex-boyfriends—but there was something so wholly different about being given a fricking huge bouquet of gorgeous blood-red roses by _Optimus fricking Prime._

She could hardly speak. “Oh my god, Optimus, I-I…” she stuttered, unsure of what to say as she accepted the flowers from the giant robot, who looked completely pleased with himself. “I don’t know what to say. Gosh. Wow! …Thank you? They’re beautiful.”

“And they are not alone in that…” said Optimus, his voice pitched low and heavy as his optics flickered deep cobalt-blue. “You look beautiful as well, Mikaela. And I believe that tonight is of particular significance to you, as it is your twenty-first birth anniversary… I must then congratulate you.”

Optimus paused here, looking thoughtful. “Even though, I do find it odd, that humans should wish to celebrate the anniversary of their births, opposed to the dates of their conception. Your conception was twenty-one years and nine earth months ago, was it not?”

Mikaela, who had flushed even deeper at his compliment, laughed at the detail of his response. “Um I have no clue… I suppose so,” she giggled, bumping him playfully against the highest part of his knee that she could reach while flashing him her most dazzling smile. “For future reference, a simple ‘happy birthday’ would have done the trick though, you know, boss… That’s how we say it here on earth. And as for why we don’t count our, uh, _conception date_ …” Mikaela wrinkled her nose with disgust, “Nobody on this entire planet wants to think about their parents doing _that_.” She shuddered. “Like, _ever_. Trust me on that one.”

Optimus made a thoughtful noise. “…Hm …I suppose you are right.”

“Too right,” she said, getting down to business as she reopened Christine’s door to grab her purse while balancing the gorgeous bouquet of flowers in the crook of her right arm. “Now, I’ll admit that I really didn’t expect all this wishy-washy mushy stuff from a big strong Autobot leader like you…” she teased, “And not that it isn’t fricking adorable— _seriously freaking adorable_ oh my god—but I got all dressed up and drove what, like fifty freaking miles to get out here tonight to see you and _celebrate_. Hard. …And you have no idea exactly how many party invitations I had to turn down because I’d rather party here with _you_.”

She hesitated for a moment, looking him up-and-down with a smirk—he was so cute, and it was turning her on. Hunched-over like that, she couldn’t get a look at how tall he was, but there was still an always-adorkable robo-aesthetic to the way the circular audials on the sides of his head spun as he listened to her (not to mention those eyes, she always felt naked when he looked at her like that, damn— _stop undressing me with your optics in public, Optimus Prime. You know the rules,_ she felt like saying).

Mikaela cleared her throat, forcing herself to concentrate before she continued. “And the little white lies I had to come up with about why it was I couldn’t be with any of my _actual girlfriends_ on my twenty-first birthday,” she folded her arms, faking looking pissed off. “Do you have any idea how mad they were that I chose to spend tonight with some ‘weird ass semi-boyfriend that never even shows his face around town’ instead? I’ll give you a clue. They’re _extremely damn livid_ ,” she finished, laughing at the way the enormous robot shrunk back, looking sorry.  

 _Semi-boyfriend,_ she echoed to herself with amusement. She’d had a hard time keeping a straight face when she’d used the pun to her friends.

“I apologize, Mikaela, sincerely, I—”

She silenced him with a single look. “Don’t be sorry. Don’t forget that I said I’d rather party with _you_ ,” she grinned, and an expression of relief crossed Optimus’s face.

“I understand. Thank you, Mikaela,” he said. “And in which case, I am incredibly honoured. I will do everything in my power to make sure that this, ah, most important birth-date of yours is celebrated with enough … _enthusiasm_ to rival some of the best—to use the term you would use—parties—that have ever been thrown by myself or anyone else on the planet of Cybertron.”

Mikaela felt her mouth open of its own accord. “Wait, what? _You_? Threw _parties_ on _Cybertron_?”

The Autobot leader raised an eyebrow at her. “I was not always this old, Mikaela. I was a young mech, once upon a time, however many eons ago it was. …Not that age has slowed me down, because as you will undoubtedly see before this night is over… it has not. …Although… it _has_ been a very long time since I have tasted high-grade…” he added, almost as an afterthought. “Hm. Nevertheless, I believe that you will find your promised birth-date surprise …overwhelmingly satisfactory.”

And as he finished his sentence, the great doors of the Autobot’s hangar slid open directly behind him, framing him impressively with blindingly bright white light. It took Mikaela’s eyes a moment to adjust, and then another moment before the information of what she was actually seeing caught up with her brain—and then she staggered backwards, overcome and so- _totally_ surprised.


	2. In Need of Advice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Progress is ACTUALLY HAPPENING on the part that follows this. Hell yes. Word document total is at 17,143 words, meaning I have about 8k of WIP stuff that comes after this. ...Knock on wood (because life really likes to either eat my brain or shove shiny things in my face, or both, all at once), this thing should be between 25k and 35k when I'm done. 
> 
> ... I THINK. But it's good 'cause I'm super inspired again because I'm awaiting TLK's evil hot god Optimus Prime. ... I mean what

**Part 2**

.

_Four days earlier_

Homesickness, thought Lennox, was a way of life in the military.

For the little the subject was brought up between the soldiers on base (except for where near-death experiences, jumping out of planes at altitudes of twelve-thousand feet plus, and of course the ever-favorite practically-suicidal missions happening on decidedly-hostile territory soil were concerned—because these situations were exempt from this clause in their own right because who the _hell_ was supposed to go through any of this kind of crap without having their life flash before their very eyes at least _once_ ), it was universally understood to be an almost unanimously agreed-upon thing.

Loneliness. That never-fading yearning for the good times, the unforgettable times, the days where life had just been so god-damned _easy_. It was ever-so-slightly different for everyone—whether it was longing for the homely scent of familiarity that came with freshly-cut grass and backyard barbeques on disgustingly-happy Fourth of July’s surrounded by family or simply just the experience of sipping a strong cup of your favorite brand of coffee on a lazy Saturday morning while relaxing quietly in front of the television with your favorite pair of slippers on, while your wife and children slept on peacefully upstairs—Will Lennox knew that homesickness could be damn rough.

It was rough, and the most-important thing that he had learned on his rather-hellish journeys with the military thus far was that it was rough on _everybody._ It was the one thing they all had in common, and this was not a thing that dividing lines such as differing home states, countries, or even worlds applied to. Homesickness shattered the kinds of borders that humanity had yet to entirely breach despite its unending attempts—and even though men from everywhere he could ever possibly remember having met (even men from places with names he could not pronounce), never wanted to admit that they’d fallen for a weakness as seemingly-folly as homesickness.

But it really was right up there, hovering somewhere just under PTSD on the sliding scale of ‘how-to-drive-a-soldier-mad-in-ten-days’.

This was why, in order to combat that uneasy feeling of dreaded heartache (and ‘combat’ it really was, thought Will, because in order to beat it you really had to wage a war against it, sometimes)—one had to find a way to arm oneself against its effects. No, it wasn’t just military missions and rogue Decepticon raids that called for heavy ammunition sometimes, but rather the intrinsic workings of the human mind and the rather-powerful instincts that came with several millennia of a little process Darwin had dubbed ‘natural selection’. You had to be smart, sharp, and ruthless when it came to fighting it, and strike it straight through the heart. Because if you didn’t, its darkness could be blinding and all-encompassing and if you weren’t careful, it would swallow you whole.

And for Will Lennox, the particular source of this soul-crushing darkness that he had battled against fiercely for days on end was just how much he missed his wife Sarah and his baby girl Annabelle; he missed them so deeply and so strongly that even despite his best efforts, he still experienced the pain of life without them. He felt it the most during those quiet evenings he spent alone in his bunker, tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep. And when he did dream, more often than not he would dream of them—and he was never able to fully decide what was worse, the nights on which he had the nightmares of losing them forever, or the dreams that were so vivid and tender and so full of love that he could _smell_ them as though they really were right there with him.

Because those were the ones that killed him, the ones where he would wake up and feel as though everything right down to his damned _soul_ was torn in two. It was agonizing, and when he looked around it was all he could do to remember that they were not _here_ but they were instead safe in their beds far, far away where the terribly dreadful types of things Will had borne witness to in the past couple of years could not touch their pretty little minds _._

So, it was better not to dream—and this was began to develop a habit of making sure that he was so thoroughly exhausted when he fell asleep that he didn’t dream at all.

But by day, Will Lennox was a soldier. He was very smart and determined and optimistic, no matter how bad things got. Will was usually the one who kept his head up and his mind as clear as was possible and found a solution to the problem at hand. His loyalty was strong and he found sanctuary in the relationships with the people he loved and cared for and the little things in life.

Will loved sunsets and sunrises (especially that liminal feeling just after sunset on hot summer nights where the stars were just beginning to come out and the world seemed to hover on the precarious edge between reality and an eclipse of spacetime, and everyone who was awake and outside breathing in the scent of sun-scorched earth and possibly campfire was drunk on it to the point of giddiness), sushi (heck, any form of salmon was good with him, really), the particular brand of perfume Sarah wore, and long-distance running.

And it was running that had helped him out the most when it came to fending off the plague of homesickness and its depressing feelings of loneliness. He had always found it to be exhilarating, but the level of freedom and control it gave him did wonders when it came to weakening the powerlessness he felt over his life in the military sometimes. It was a great outlet, and an adrenaline-pumping one at that—there were times when Will had nearly felt unstoppable enough to believe that if he kept running, he could run all the way home to Sarah and Annabelle.

He liked it best when there was no one else around, which was a situation that was hard to come by at NEST. Meaning that Will was often up well before dawn at nigh four-thirty in the morning every single day, when the sky was still periwinkle and the stars overhead were only just beginning to fade from the sparkling carpet that the desolate desert provided as an overnight spectacle. He ran at night, too, but this was less common—he saved his late-night jogs for evenings when he either felt insomniac tendencies coming on, or else for when he suspected the possibility of dreams.

So, when Will’s feet hit that dew-slick tarmac outside of his bunker at NEST headquarters every morning, he ran like crazy—usually running laps around the entirety of NEST base—all the way until the sun was properly up and the asphalt had started to steam in the first hints of the heat of the day as his fellow comrades were roused by the five-thirty A.M. call.

Ah, it was the one time of day where isolation was not lonely and the air was fresh and cool and the only noise that could be heard was the hum of early-morning insects and the creaking chirp of hundreds of hungry crickets—except for just now. Because just now, Will had been surprised by a new noise and had stumbled because of it, nearly offing himself as he tripped in a random thicket of tumbleweed which sent him almost head-first straight into a cluster of Prickly Pears with spears the size of his freaking pocket knife.

Yeouch.

Luckily, he’d missed these, and instead got two handfuls and a mouthful of the south’s finest red powder. “What the—?” Will spat and choked, tasting the grittiness of dirt.

“Lennox? Are you all right?”

There was no mistaking exactly who that concerned voice belonged to, thought Will with a groan, as he realized suddenly the reason behind the new noise that had surprised him so badly.

It had been the big truck’s transformation.

His next thought was pure outrage at the fact that he had somehow been so into what he was doing that the _thirty-plus foot robot_ had actually managed to _sneak up on Will Lennox._ He huffed heartily as he staggered back onto his feet, wiping his dusty hands off on the sides of his khaki-camo shorts.

“I think so. Jesus, for a giant robot, you sure can be pretty stealthy when you wanna be, Optimus,” he said in annoyance, taking inventory of his hands and knees (which thankfully had not suffered more than a couple scrapes apiece), before folding his arms across his chest and fixing the Autobot commander with an unconvincingly suspicious look. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

Optimus was looking down at the human officer with an expression of extreme concern. “I must apologize for the alarm I have caused you. I had assumed that you were aware of my presence when I transformed—are you certain you are not hurt, Major Lennox? That looked somewhat, ah, painful.”

“I’m fine. Seriously! Just a couple of scrapes, no big.” Regaining his usual laid-back attitude, he pushed one hand back through his ruffled, sandy blonde hair to brush out the dust while considering the Optimus curiously.

While Will was accustomed to the privilege of enjoying his morning runs without being interrupted, it was not the first time he’d found a comrade of his wandering the base in the early hours of the morning. Once or twice, his comrades had even offered to join him, and Will had relished the little bit of competition it had offered.

However, Optimus Prime did not look in the mood for a morning run, not that Will would have been overjoyed to have the enormous robot as an opponent, anyways—one stride from the Autobot equalled no less than ten for the human officer. It would have been an unfair competition at best.

Optimus was still watching Lennox cautiously as though he was expecting him to collapse again at any moment. The human kneeled down to examine the knots tied in his running shoes as he stole curious glances at the robot out of the corner of his eye. “I didn’t think you were the type who fancied a morning jog,” he said at length. “And not that I’m complaining if you feel like giving it a go with me, but I don’t think we’d make the best partners. On account of you being over twenty feet taller than me with feet the size of a picnic table,” Will smirked. “Not going to lie, as much as I enjoy pancakes for breakfast, I’d rather not _be_ the pancake for breakfast, if you know what I mean…”

The enormous robot peered down with an expression of calculating amusement as he laughed. “I do, but I think your fears are unnecessary, Major Lennox. We both have seen that Cybertronian anatomy is just as complex and agile as human anatomy is. Granted, my sense of coordination and balance far overshadows your own, even if only before the light of morning sunrise.”

“Oh, really?” challenged Will, pretending to be insulted even though he knew that Optimus was just kidding around as the two often did. While the Prime was almost always outwardly stoic, Will had learned that Optimus had just as much of a sense of humor as his Autobot comrades did. He just had a more-reserved way of showing it.

“And I don’t suppose me falling had anything to do with you surprising the hell out of me at all, did it?” Will placed his hands on his hips as he stared up at the ‘bot with a look of false irritation. “But never mind me, what’re _you_ doing out here this early in the morning, anyway?”

While Will had been fully expecting Optimus to respond with an equally-challenging, albeit much more smoothly-delivered retort, he was surprised to see the massive robot’s huge shoulders shrug as a prolonged sigh escaped his air-vent system. “…Truthfully, I was not able to recharge properly,” he said at length. “I have been experiencing more and more disturbances while in recharge, and this morning I did not see the point in continuing to unsuccessfully attempt to reengage recharge mode while the view of the horizon through the window from my berth was so exceptionally beautiful.”

Will watched in disbelief as Optimus lowered himself to the ground to sit on the only cactus-free space nearby—a low outcropping of orange-stained bedrock which Will clambered up on top of to join him.

“You haven’t been sleeping well?” he asked, finding a rather flat space of rock to sit atop of. Though the hunk of stone stood barely three-feet-high over the rest of the gently-sloping wasteland, it provided an amazing view of the slowly-approaching sunrise.

The Autobot leader was right about one thing, Will realized as he took in the silhouetted rolling hills stuck with the irregular shapes of cacti and distant mesas. It _was_ an exceptionally beautiful morning.

Optimus nodded. “I have had too much on my mind.”

Will reached over and gave the ‘bot an empathetic pat on the only part of his arm within reach—his elbow. “I understand how you feel, man. That’s kinda why I’m always up at this time of the day, too—if I keep lying there trying to sleep I’ll just start thinking about things I don’t wanna be thinking about. Besides, this is the only time of the day where it isn’t way too blazing hot to run.”

When the ‘bot didn’t reply, Will shot him a sideways look. He didn’t appear to have fully registered what Lennox had just said. “Are you sure you’re okay, Optimus?”

Will did not want to press the subject if the Autobot commander did not want to tell him what was on his mind, but Lennox wanted to make sure that his faithful comrade knew that he was there for him if he needed someone to talk to. Moreover, he could tell that, whatever it was that was bothering him, it must have really been important—a vague suspicion of the subject matter tugged at the back of Will’s mind, but he pushed it away. He was thinking about the rumours he’d been hearing around base of late, rumours of things he personally felt he had no place knowing the details of.

But one look up at the Prime showed him that a mechanical crease had formed between Optimus’s eyebrows and that the robot was rubbing the bridge of his nose in worry. As he watched, he sighed yet again, long and heavy and more preoccupied than Lennox had ever heard coming from him.

“Is it about the Decepticons?” asked Will with a sudden sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach—what else could make the leader of the Autobots himself act so troubled? “They’re not mobilizing again, are they? Has Meg—”

“No, this has nothing to do with Megatron, nor does it have anything to do with the Decepticons.” Optimus ran his hands over his face, breathing in deeply through his vents with the sound of sucking air. “It is… trivial. I do not wish to waste your time… In fact, I am ah—somewhat embarrassed—to admit that I have let such a thing assume such overwhelming control over my processor…”

This was left so open-ended that Will felt himself staring in spite of himself. “Okay,” he choked, clearing his throat. “So. Trivial or not, it’s obviously bothering you. Um. Is it something you think I can help with?”

The Autobot turned to look at him at once, and Will met the soul-searching azure optics dead-on and within a split second of watching their apertures expand he _knew_. It all made sense—the borderline pleading, out-of-his-element and-yet-still-not-willing-to-ask-for-help look in his optics, the sudden apathy, along with the aforementioned rumours that Will had been trying his best to ignore.

Optimus was having dating problems. No, scratch that—Optimus was having _dating human women_ problems.

Which meant that he had just unknowingly offered to assist the Autobot commander in the one area of his life that Officer Lennox knew next to nothing about—the most awkward area of Cybertronian/human _interspecies romance._

Will felt the bottom of his stomach drop so far all at once that it felt like it disappeared through the ground and came right back out the other side of the planet. He wouldn’t have been surprised to find the remnants of the hastily-gulped protein smoothie he’d had for ‘breakfast’ splattered all over the Great Wall of China. And it was a good thing that NEST Special Ops team didn’t plan on visiting there anytime soon, because he’d have a hell of a time explaining to those damned poor tourists why suddenly The Great Wall was covered with smelly half-digested Will-goo.

 _Yuck_.

“Major Lennox,” Optimus said in his usual quiet growl, still fixing Will with that super-intense, almost-pleading look. “I would consider it a great honour if you would try to help me with this. Though I will certainly not be offended if you should express discomfort on the subject of what I am about to tell you…”

 _Here it comes_ , thought Will, trying not to wince. Part of him felt kind of guilty for being so squeamish, because Optimus was a pretty close friend of his, all things considered. Even though he was technically the Autobot leader’s Commanding Officer, it was hard to truly feel like you were the boss of a millennias-old epic intergalactic war hero in the form of a thirty-plus foot robot who was not only a helluva lot more experienced than you, had guns a helluva lot bigger than yours, but who happened to also be so big and strong that he could accidentally trod on you like some kind of human-sized mouse and squish you to death if you weren’t mindful of his big-ass robotic feet. As such, it would appear to anyone who had just met the human officer and the leader of the Autobot sanction under Will’s command like the roles should have been reversed, if anything.

But the big bot, for as dangerous and dominating as he looked (yup, Will Lennox would definitely not want to fuck with _that_ if he had happened to come across Optimus one day without ever having met a Cybertronian before—although, since he actually _had_ , he knew that Optimus’s appearance was far less daunting than pretty much all of the Decepticons out there), Optimus Prime happened to be Will’s best Autobot friend and one of his most favorite comrades on base in general.

Will also knew that the sentiment was returned in kind. The two had become close over the years. They’d fought in this war together, marched into many a battle with their guns held high and blazing, bringing the rain like no one on neither Earth nor Cybertron had ever seen before.

However, spending afternoons practicing together at the shooting gallery, or perhaps sharing a drink with the Autobot leader after a hard day of training while discussing war tactics was a helluva lot different than being initiated into such an intense discussion as the one that was currently unfolding between the two. It was a step forward in their friendship that Will had not been prepared for, and as off-putting the prospect of discussing human/Cypertronian romance was, he had to admit that if there was any Autobot he could have chosen to share a round of this kind of guy-talk with, he would definitely have chosen Optimus Prime.

Fortified with that mental reassurance, Will cleared his throat. “Mhm. Yeah, I think I see where this is going. No problem, Optimus… so what’s _really_ up? Mikaela giving you trouble, or something?”

Whatever Optimus had expected Will to say, it was not this. Optimus’s optics widened in surprise. “Ah, no… not trouble, exactly…” the Autobot’s gravelly voice choked. “But how did you know, that this was to do with my— _relationship_ —with—?”

Will had to laugh at this. “Oh, it was easy,” he chortled, shielding his eyes against the first rays of sunshine that were just beginning to crest over the barren landscape. “I recognized that look on your face. Every guy alive knows that look, and it doesn’t matter if your human or Cybertronian—it means the same goddamned thing.”

“Ah,” Optimus blinked slowly as he studied one of his massive hands. “I see.”

“So what’s the deal?”

The ‘bot took a while to answer, and when he did he spoke gradually, as though choosing every word with care. “It is… what concerns me is that… Mikaela had mentioned to me on the date of our last meeting, that in four earth days’ time from now, by the laws that govern this country, Mikaela will officially be of legal age to consume the flavored infusions of ethanol that your species enjoys recreationally. It will be the twenty-first anniversary of the day on which she was given birth to.”

“Birthday,” muttered Will, more to himself than anything else. “It’s her birthday. Of course.”

“Yes, the anniversary of her birth,” continued Optimus, sounding more and more self-conscious with every word he spoke, “And I must admit, that I am at a loss of what her expectations are… for she has insisted that she celebrate in my company instead of with her family and friends, a decision which I am grateful for, even if I do not feel as though I deserve such an honour.”

“And you’re wondering what the hell this means for you, right?” grinned Lennox, starting to enjoy himself a lot more than he had imagined he would. It wasn’t every day one got to give an interstellar-travelled alien robot dating advice.

“Yes, exactly,” squirmed Optimus uncomfortably. “I… am aware of Cybertronian traditions—in fact, on my home planet, I was exceptionally well-versed in them. But your species has different traditions, and I am concerned that I am woefully ignorant… but still determined to repay Mikaela in kind for her decision. I have promised to surprise her with something great, but I am in need of information, and on this subject I—forgive me—do not wholly trust with your Internet databases, due to its unreliability. This subject is of …extremely sensitive nature,” he nodded.

Will had to suppress a snort at this. “Yeah, I feel you. I wouldn’t trust the internet with this kind of stuff either. But… okay look, Optimus, I’m no casanova, all right? So take this with a grain of salt, but… Mikaela is turning twenty-one? Hmm…”

Optimus waited patiently while Will took a moment to consider this. It had been what felt like ages since his own twenty-first birthday, but he could still recall how important the date had been to him and how much trouble he had got up to with his friends. But women were a lot different than men, and from what Will knew of Mikaela, there was a lot more to her than what you saw on the surface.

“Well usually, you’d give your significant other some kind of romantic present,” Will started, thinking carefully. “Like, chocolates, or jewellery, or flowers, or something. Girls like that kind of stuff—I’m not sure what Mikaela likes in particular, but you can’t really go wrong with any of those.”

The enormous ‘bot was staring at Will, drinking in every single word like his life depended on it. _God,_ Will thought, _somebody is hungry for advice…_

“Jewellery…” repeated Optimus thoughtfully as the tiny motors in his audial plates whirred as they rotated. “Flowers… hm. And what sort of flowering plant might you suggest, Will? Your planet has several hundred thousand, many of which may have …romantic implications.”

“Roses,” said Will promptly. “Red roses.”

“Ah. Well I do like the scent of _Rosa Centifola_.”

“Good. Get her some of those, then, for starters. But if you’re going to be spending all night with her, you’re going to have to do a lot more than just buy her a bundle of flowers. And I don’t mean just take her for a drive, or to a drive-in, or whatever else it is you guys usually do together. Every girl I’ve ever met who’s celebrating their twenty-first birthday pretty much only has one thing on her mind… _maaaaaybe_ two if you’re lucky, ha… and they usually all involve drinking, nightclubs, and a whole lotta dancing.”

“Dancing?” repeated Optimus blankly. “Nightclubs? Perhaps that is not advisable—”

“Well obviously not, in your case,” continued Will promptly, hitting his stride as he looked the Autobot leader up and down. “You’re kind of—well—conspicuous. So you’re going to have to think outside the box. You can’t take _Mikaela_ out partying, right? So why don’t you try taking the _party_ to _her_?”

“I am not sure what you mean,” Optimus frowned.

Will took a moment to crack his neck and his knuckles before he answered. “Here’s my proposition,” he said, businesslike. “Mikaela’ll want to have a good time, and we both know that her going out in public with you is a big fat no-no, especially not when there’s the very high chance that she might drink so much you’ll have to carry her home. And ‘cause I’m preeeetty darned positive that that is _not_ the best experience for any boyfriend, no matter what planet your from—so why don’t you _throw_ her a birthday party instead?”

Optimus considered this thoughtfully. “Hmm.”

“No, really!” Will continued, growing increasingly enthusiastic. “That way, you guys won’t have to go out in public, and you won’t have to worry about her vomiting all over your interior. Aha, speaking of worst-case scenarios only, of course,” Will chuckled at the horrified look on Optimus’s face. “I’m sure Mikaela’s a lot more responsible than that, though. And plus—Mikaela _loves_ you guys. I might not know her as well as you do, but I’m pretty sure she’d be super stoked if someone threw her her very own Autobot birthday party. Bonus points if it’s a _surprise_ party.”

“She does enjoy the somewhat limited time she has to spend with all of us…” said Optimus slowly. “Bumblebee in particular. I am aware that the two were close friends, and it has been hard on her, not seeing him as often since her and Sam terminated their relationship. Yes,” the Autobot nodded, his mind mostly made up. “This idea would likely be the best course of action… although, it still leaves me with the question of what exactly she will be expecting as a part of this… ah, _surprise party_ , as I have never attended another human’s birth-anniversary, or any of these, ah— _nightclubs—_ you have mentioned, for that matter. I cannot simply recreate—”

“Nonesense,” interrupted Will. “Look, it’ll be fine. I’ll help you out with the planning. All you need is a couple of her good friends—the Autobots and maybe you can round up some of the other people she knows who are in on you guys and all. Some drinks—and that’s easy, too. I’ll take care of the human side of things, and you guys have got tons of that high-grade stuff around, haven’t you?”

“Well yes, but—”

“…And for music, the hangars have got a pretty good sound system of their own, and I’ve got a huge library of some pretty good tunes I think Mikaela would like…”

“Yes, but Lennox—”

“…And food, you’ll need food, maybe you could order a couple of pizzas… snack foods… popcorn… and speaking of popcorn, when it gets late you could always throw on a movie, snuggle up beside her, and who knows, maybe you’ll get lucky—”

“ _LENNOX!_ ” Optimus half-shouted, finally gaining the overenthusiastic human’s attention. “…I do not have the facilities—I would need permission for such a—and I very much doubt—”

“We can do it on base, it’s fine,” said Will confidently. “I could probably arrange it.” He wiggled his eyebrows up at the giant ‘bot. “Just as long as you let me hang around for a bit. You’ll need a Commanding Officer there as an overseer anyways, so you’ll _have_ to keep me around. I’m sure it’ll be okay—a few of the higher-ups owe me a favor, after all. And man, _you_ totally wasted on high-grade… I’d almost pay money to see that!”

Optimus let out a sigh of exasperation as he rubbed his forehead, but he could not conceal a slight smirk of amusement. “I am not certain I intend to drink that much. But regardless, I of course appreciate your assistance on this matter, Major Lennox. Even more than is obviously apparent.” He looked down at his human comrade with an expression of absolute fondness. “…And if it really is your desire to see me ‘totally wasted on high-grade’ as you have put it, I will bear this in mind during the, ah, celebration.”

Will clapped his hands together, grinning wildly. “It’s settled, then,” he said, pulling out his cell phone to set himself a reminder to make sure he spoke to the necessary people about Optimus’s plans for Mikaela’s birthday so that they could get clearance before the weekend. “I’ll take care of the legalities and I’ll let you know when I know what’s up.”

“That sounds excellent to me.”

The sun had fully risen by the time Will had jumped up from the rock; Optimus followed suit, looking a great deal more cheerful than he had been when they’d first met this morning. They’d been talking for so long that NEST’s usual early activities had already begun without them—soldiers were taking to the tarmac in lines, vehicles were rolling about packed full of supplies, and orders were being shouted over giant megaphones bolted to the exteriors of the closest buildings. Will felt his achingly empty stomach rumble as the mouth-watering odour of cooking bacon and sausages floated over to him from the mess hall.

“Yeah,” he said happily as he scanned the crowds for a glimpse of his training partner, Epps, as he and Optimus prepared to go their separate ways. “All we’ve gotta do is invite a couple more people… maybe find some good games to play—ha! I’ll bet Mikaela likes Twister…”

“What is Twister?” Optimus asked, very confused.

“Oh, you just wait,” grinned Will evilly as he spotted the back of Epps’s bare head. “You just wait. …You didn’t have drinking games on Cybertron, did you?”


	3. A Good Old-Fashioned Luau

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good god my life is insane. Sorry for going AWOL. Fair warning that it could happen again. This is the outcome of working 50-60 hours per week WHILE maintaining a social life WHILE having to be an adult etc etc WHILE still somehow finding the time to write. ... I am dead. I worked 12 hours today & then speed edit of aaaalmost finished chapter was go and now it's an hour past my bed time ffs. Excuse me while I lie down and die this part is enormous and dumb whoops, wyd

**Part 3**

.

Okay, so _maybe_ Mikaela had had a recent bad habit of telling a handful of exaggerated stories and little white lies to Cal when it came to life at NEST headquarters. Maaaaybe just a little.

But it had only become a habit because, when it came to Sunday nights, Cal and good old nosy Pat always wanted to know _every_ tiny, insignificant detail about what weekends were like in the so-called ‘suburbs’. And this was of course impossible for Mikaela to recount in full, specified level of detail, given that these particular suburbs were actually naught but an endless stretch of canyons and dust bowls, and Mister Mature, Older Boyfriend’s fancy-dancy country house was actually a small private bay inside of surgically-clean, automotive-scented NEST military headquarters.

Planet Earth as a whole may now have been in on the existence of the Autobots, but that didn’t mean the public was allowed to know the exact whereabouts of the most elite military base in the country. It was especially important that people like Pat, who had a very annoying fondness for blabbing, and Mikaela’s own girlfriends—who also had enormous simply enormous mouths—not to know too much. So in an effort to contain the secret (and, likewise, just to avoid the many extremely awkward questions she knew would be headed her way should Cal have learned that his daughter was actually in a relationship with _Optimus Prime_ ), Mikaela had to make-do with her current suburbs cover-up story.

It was the lies she’d had to tell that especially bothered her, though. Because Mikaela never told lies, especially not to Cal; and lies were like a spider’s web. They had this nasty, sticky thing where, once you told one, you had to tell another, and another. And before Mikaela knew it, she was at the point with Cal and Pat and her friends where she was making up stories—outright _exaggerations_ —about what life was like at NEST with Optimus Prime.

 _Do we share a bedroom? God, oh, god no. I crash on the couch._ False—the Autobot leader _did_ have his own quarters (quite literally, they were no more than a small quarter of the hangar, because there was no way in hell that anybody on base was about to give Optimus Prime the whole damned hangar all to himself, no matter _what_ title he held), and Mikaela was welcome to crash with him whenever she wanted.

 _What do we do for fun?_ Platonic _fun, of course? Um, we like to watch movies? He’s got a big screen TV. Like a home theatre. Doesn’t mean we don’t like to do go out, though. He took me to a drive-in, once. Yes. Yes, really. I know, right? It was amazing!_ Also false—she _had_ been meaning to ask him if he’d be into this, though.

It made her feel so guilty. She had to keep reminding herself, that it wasn’t out of a choice she was consciously making without reason—it was just that everything had just snapped into place in a way that made her have to be so fucking secretive all the time. She was constantly afraid that something terrible was going to happen again and endanger her friends and family if she wasn’t careful.

And there was of course the danger of the Decepticons to consider— _what_ they would do to her if they ever found out that she was in a romantic relationship with Optimus, she did _not_ want to know—but the newfound danger of the general public was the thing that disturbed her the deepest. Now that the secret of the Autobots was out, Mikaela wasn’t sure that she liked the way the civilians of planet Earth were beginning to view them.

The public … objectified them at best. Made them out to be war machines. _Killing_ machines, and not just as glorified Decepticons, but as machines that were to be feared no matter their intentions. They viewed them through the biased lenses of the human condition, assuming the catch-all weaknesses of humanity and human culture rang true for them, too—that a race that possessed so much potential power was destined to be unable to control their thirst for bloodshed and total domination.

This was of course inaccurate, and precisely why Optimus had refused to share the secrets behind their tech with Earth; but the power and advancement of Cybertronian weapons systems were generally accepted as ‘purely terrifying’ to most civilians regardless, and the scale of destruction that their battles with the Decepticons had left behind thus far (cough, Mission City, cough) did not help the public differentiate between the two Cybertronian enemies, no matter how valiant the Autobots’ cause was.

The only thing worse than this, in Mikaela’s mind, were the freaks out there who were fascinated by the Autobots, but only wanted to capture and kill them solely to pick their brains apart and study them like science experiments as they had done to Megatron back in the day before they had realized that _oh shit this robot is actually an evil god monster and his army of evil ‘bots will not rest until they wake him up_. The thought made Mikaela sick to her stomach. All anybody ever cared about was how big their guns were, and not what the robots’ personalities were actually like, much less how they felt about things.

It was straight up, A-class bullshit, but what was one tiny human woman supposed to do about it, besides keep her mouth shut and continue to be there for Optimus when he needed someone to treat him with some common fucking decency?

Fuck, the whole thing made her livid. She didn’t dare tell Optimus that, though. Nevertheless, she thought he could sometimes sense it on her—there were times when there was just too much guilt in his optics when he looked at her, and it was always plain in the way he said goodbye to her on Sunday nights. He didn’t want her to go, but at the same time he could not bring himself to fully believe that he ever deserved to have her return because of what it meant for her, all the secrets she kept and all the lies she’d had to tell to her friends and family. There had been so much damage done already by the Decepticons, and, in the words of Optimus himself, he was ‘eternally regretful that their destiny had been interwoven through so much hurt and destruction’.

But, hey. As shitty as it all was, and as intense a shit show the state of the rest of the world was right now, it wasn’t _all_ bad in their little hidden corner of the county. There had been no hint of a Decepticon mobilization in many months, leaving the Autobots with a lot more free time for random raids and other raucous acts of boredom, and even the lies she’d had to tell to Cal had had their silver lining of a sort (being that truthfully, she _was_ pretty well-behaved when it came to staying at NEST, all things considered).

Optimus Prime and Mikaela were doing as good as the two could be under the current situation. They had become just as close to one another as Mikaela had been with Bee; teaching each other about the ways of their species, offering each other advice and companionship, and above all, spending a lot of time just hanging out, winding down, and enjoying each other’s company.

It could be dang therapeutic, sometimes, just to be around someone who you knew wasn’t going to judge you, and who you could just kick it back and relax with.

And they never really _partied_ , and there was absolutely no underage drinking on base, and the sex was always consensual and downright vanilla compared to the kind of shenanigans that had happened out there in the wasteland those fateful weekends way back. Particularly the one when they’d decided to take a second drive and had found themselves parked outside of that empty rig shop full of more goodies than even Ciara could manage to sing about (that was god damned memorable and hot as all hell itself, thought Mikaela. She wasn’t going to forget about _that_ in a hurry). Oh, yeah, the willpower-bending capabilities of an air compressor, a couple of wire scrub brushes and a shiny hydraulic rig hoist… she’d never have _ever_ guessed they’d have such a control-shattering effect on the immensely strong and  almost endlessly stoic Autobot leader.

Ever since then, _toys, not tools,_ had become something of a mental catch-phrase of hers whenever she had to get hands-on and dirty under a rig at the shop. And then there was the fact that she could never degrease an engine or service a transmission while looking at it the same way again. The dark smears on her hands, blouse, and face were just too reminiscent of another certain kind of fluid, and the _smell_ —god almighty, the smell alone was enough to make her turn to her storage shelf full of half-empty bottles, oil cans, and lube tubes cursing, totally thinking 101 flavors of lube.

Christ. Had screwing an Autobot as an occasional weekend day-job had made her brain function fucking whacked, or what? Either it was that, or she’d just inhaled one too many fumes at the shop…

Regardless of how perverted she was at work, though, the two of them hadn’t really gotten any freakier than that. Which was actually starting to get a little grating, because Mikaela really could be one horny motherfucker and there were times when she swore to _god_ that she would move heaven on earth to get that god danged fine-aft hunk of chrome, steel, and sex appeal _alone_ and spread-eagled on his berth, even if he was way too big to mount _._ And despite how _hard_ Optimus worked to make people believe that he did _not_ have the time for such shenanigans and was by all means _not_ a kinky sonuvagun whatsoever, Mikaela knew that the Autobot leader loved it when she stroked his gears almost as she loved stroking them.

Looking back, she supposed it was all of that supercharged sexual tension from _not_ even hardly _discussing_ their fantasies much since their outings in the wasteland until it was far, far too late that had gotten them into so much serious trouble that fateful weekend when Mikaela had turned twenty-one. That, and the 26-er of whiskey she had procured and a whole lotta high-grade and sweettalk on Sideswipe, Ironhide, and especially Optimus’s part.

Needless to say, things had gotten a little revved up at her birthday party. And maybe more than a lot out-of-hand.

_God damned bad influences, I tell ya..._

And it was one of these so-called bad influences who had succeeded in giving Mikaela one hell of an unexpected surprise. Mikaela found herself shell-shocked, gaping, and absolutely _floored_ that somebody had found a way to convert the entire inside of the Autobot’s hangar into what looked like a passable version of some kind of cross between a kickass neon man-cave-esque autoshop and something just as radically discotech as a Main Event Entertainment at midnight.

It was fucking crazy, she thought as her eyes adjusted to the sudden rainbow lights streaming across the tarmac, standing beside the smirking Autobot leader rooted to the spot and unable to run for cover as a whole boatload of people and Autobots alike came bursting out of the hangar yelling ‘ _surprise Mikaela!_ ’.

 _Jesus, I sure hope Optimus had permission for this_ was the last thing she thought before the crowd hit her like a tidal wave and she was almost knocked off of her feet by what felt like a million figures wrapping limbs around her so rapidly and so _rabidly_ that at first, she couldn’t even tell what species they were. She could, however, make out lines from Rod Stewart’s _Da Ya Think I’m Sexy_ playing in the background, and had to say—that exact kind of nonsensical 70’s discopop had Major Lennox written aaaaaaall over it.

“ _Mmmf_ —Omtimus, Lennosh,” Mikaela tried to say while grimacing in pain at the sheer strength of the dog-pile-like hug. _At least they’re just humans and not Autobots, otherwise I’d probably be dead right now,_ she thought as she tried to discern whose voice belonged to whom, but she was having a severely hard time recognizing _any_ of them as almost everybody had begun talking to each other at once.

“Gcck—could you guys—just—nngh—forasecond—” was all that she could choke out from between the bodies, fearing for the worst that the bouquet of roses she still held in her right hand were getting squished to a pulp.

“Okay, okay, people, that’s enough,” came a distinguishable male voice slightly elevated through the wall of people—identifiable as Major Lennox’s. “Back up. Back up. Let’s let Mikaela breathe.”

“Thanks, ahem, Lennox,” she coughed breathlessly as a couple people let go and whoever it was who had been holding on to her the tightest finally loosened their grip on her, even if they still refused to stop hugging her. _And yuuuup,_ she thought as she felt something wet dribbling down the side of her leg, _the roses are most likely ruined_. Either the dampness was due to the decorative cellophane they had been wrapped up in being damaged, or one of the Autobots had become so excited that they had accidentally sprayed the small crowd of humans with nasty-ass freakin’ Autobot lubricants, and she knew at least half of them could be big enough (albeit lovable) wingnuts to do such a thing.

But, nope—as excited as they all probably were to see her, the enthusiastic voices of Sideswipe, Ironhide, Ratchet, and even a couple rapid-fire beeps and whirrs that sounded like they had come from Bumblebee were thrilled but not just-wet-themselves-thrilled, and she felt momentarily disheartened by the undeniable truth that Optimus’s pretty flowers had become a sloppy crushed mess before what she had just heard fully registered in her brain and she found herself yelling out, “ _Bee_?” as a hopeful little glowing bubble swelled inside of her at the sound of the Autobot’s ‘voice’.

Mikaela had missed the younger ‘bot a lot during the past year. While spending weekends at NEST did mean that she had been able to visit Bumblebee more often than she normally would have sans-Sam, the short amount of time they did have to potentially chill she was usually obligated to spend with Optimus instead (as he _was_ technically the real reason Mikaela even still had clearance on base). This did not fully fill the gap Bee’s daily absence had left in her heart.

Add in the little details that Bumblebee was still technically Sam’s guardian and had a duty to keep the human boy safe (which still could be a very time-committing job), and it was no surprise that there had been many days when Mikaela found herself really missing the cheerful little Camaro’s uplifting company lately.

And it hit especially hard sometimes because there was only so much trouble the big bossbot leader Optimus Prime was willing to get up to with her. For a ‘bot of his size and stature, and for the sheer amount of time he spent chasing after the other ‘bots making sure all of them were well-behaved, Optimus really did suck at causing almost any form of mischief by himself (unless it was of the variety of ‘trouble’ that was questionable in nature, in which case she could testify that he did have a knack for that, no matter how veeeerrrrry deeply buried and sexually repressed that devious streak could be).

But for everything else, Mikaela missed her and Sam’s old partner-in-crime, Bumblebee. So to find out that the little ‘bot had taken the time out of his busy schedule to make a point of being around for her birthday really warmed her heart. _Talk about warm fuzzies,_ she thought as she tried to pull the people still hugging her off of her to no avail, trying to catch a glimpse of Bee.

All she was rewarded with was Epps’s face and she gave him the most desperate, pleading look she could muster because _oh god could you_ please _get these people off me already I’m starting to not be able to feel my arms._ “Guys, guys,” said Epps, surprisingly stern. “You heard my main man Will, here. Step aside and let the woman breathe.”

“But we’ve _missed_ her!” the woman who was still hugging Mikaela as though her life depended on it protested Epps’s request in a whiny, shrill voice and Mikaela gasped, finally recognizing who it belonged to.

“ _Judy_?”

No, there was no longer any confusion as to who exactly that messy blonde head of hair belonged to. Sam’s mother, Judy, finally released Mikaela to hold her at arm’s length, looking her up and down. Mikaela had about three seconds to vaguely wonder why Judy had chosen to wear the most eye-watering assortment of clothes she’d ever seen anyone wear, like ever—a neon green-and-yellow flowered summer dress complete with a very ugly pink-and-purple lei draped over her neck and a matching hat—before Judy was talking again.

“Oh, it’s been absolutely _ages_ since we last saw you, young lady,” she said, placing her hands on her hips in mock disapproval. “You look absolutely _stunning_! _And_ you’ve grown—gosh, you’re getting so tall and beautiful—and you must be so surprised to see us! I was ever so excited when I overheard Bumblebee telling Sam that you were having a _surprise party_ thrown for you.”

Mikaela blinked. While she had been slowly getting over the sheer shock of finding herself unexpectedly face-to-face with none other than her ex-boyfriend’s mother, she was still having a difficult time piecing together exactly what the woman was doing here at NEST (at least until she’d let slip that bit about Sam and Bee). At first, she had just assumed that maybe Sam’s mother had just happened to be on base for some totally-unrelated reason or something (as little sense as that made), but what Judy had just said made Mikaela do the mental version of a double-take while her jaw dropped to hang wide open enough to catch flies— _wait, what, now?_ —before she regained the higher brain function to remember to actually _ask_ for clarification.

“Um, I’m sorry, but—w-what exactly—?”

Because if Judy really had overheard Bee blabbing to Sam about what was surely supposed to be a very big secret, then did that mean that Bee had actually extended the invitation to Sam’s entire family of his own accord once he realized his mistake? Or was it Optimus’s intention all along to have Bee invite Sam _and_ his family to her birthday party?

 _Her_ bloody birthday party. _It better not have been_ , growled Mikaela to herself, because if it was, then she was going to have to have a very long talk with Mister Autobot Leader about the rules of human courtship and dating. A very long one indeed concerning why exactly it was really, _really_ awkward, almost downright inappropriate, etcetera, to facilitate a situation such as a fricking _surprise birthday party_ where _both_ your ex and the guy you were currently seeing (and currently were sexually frustrated enough over to fuck like a goddamned _maniac_ even given the currently very _unlikely_ chance of such things happening) were both going to be in attendance.

Mikaela huffed, reflexively scanning the crowd of humans and Autobots surrounding her for a glimpse of either Sam or Optimus Prime. But Optimus had been scooped up by NEST personnel, and she couldn’t make out Sam anywhere, either. Surely there was no reason on Earth for Sam to agree with Judy that it would be a good idea for him to show up. Not only was Sam fully aware that it looked very much like Mikaela had ditched him to date a giant alien robot instead (which _wasn’t_ the case _,_ not exactly. It just _looked_ like that), but the break-up itself hadn’t exactly gone as smoothly as Mikaela would have liked, and two hadn’t exactly had many conversations since they’d split, either.

Moreover, she _prayed_ for Optimus’s sake that the boy had dared not show his face. Because if he did—and Mikaela had to deal with _that_ tonight, on top of everything, and things went bad—it was most definitely going to be on Optimus.

And sure enough, Judy’s answer pretty much went exactly how she thought it would.

“Oh, it was all up to Bumblebee’s boss, Optimum—” Judy started to explain, flashing Mikaela another huge smile that showed her teeth. “I mean, Optimus. He wanted to invite everyone he knew cared about you—and yes, of _course_ we still care about you, Mikaela, honey. Don’t give me that look—and we all thought it was a _grand_ idea. Didn’t we, Ron?”

“Oh, yes,” said Ron, Judy’s husband offhandedly. He’d been lurking partially behind Bee with a shifty expression on his face, clearly trying to keep out of the conversation for fear of being chewed out for some random reason by one or both of the two women. Funnily enough, Bee had a very similar look on his own face—he was staring at Mikaela like a small puppy caught in wrongdoing, and despite how serious she was determined to be, Mikaela still felt her heart melt. Why did Bee have to be so gosh darn _cute_ sometimes?

“ _And_?” insisted Judy.

“And, um, life’s just not the same without you, Mikaela, we’ve missed you,” finished Ron lamely.

 “We have,” agreed Judy with satisfaction. “In fact, even Sam—”

 _Oh, no_ , thought Mikaela immediately as she felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. So he _was_ here.

Oh, no. Oh, boy.

“Sam?” said Judy again when he did not answer, louder this time, and for the first time since her arrival, Judy’s attention was diverted somewhere besides Mikaela. “Sam? Now where has that boy got to, I thought I made myself quite clear that he was _going_ to wish Mikaela a happy birthday or else he was going to be grounded again, I’m-an-adult-college-boy you-can’t-ground-me-anymore my ass I will still ground his sorry butt into next week— _Sam_!”

Feeling semi-comforted in the fact that Sam, too, was probably feeling just as awkward about this as she was, Mikaela found herself even more mortified when  Judy seemed to reach out of thin air to pull Sam bodily out of the crowd with a very disgruntled ‘ _You should be ashamed of yourself, honestly. Just because she’s your ex-girlfriend_ ’, which was only made worse by how he happened to be holding hands with a very pretty blonde girl who surfaced from the mass of people a moment later and immediately tried to give Mikaela a warm smile.

“And don’t be rude,” sniffed Judy. “You two discovered an alien race together. The least you can do is to make sure you introduce Carly.”

Just when Mikaela had been thinking that things couldn’t have been worse, too. Well, at least nearly everyone who had been eavesdropping on their conversation for the past couple of minutes had either become distracted by other things by now (such as one of the Autobots inside of the hangar hauling what appeared to be a truly massive piñata up to the second level and dangling it over one of the metal catwalks), or had diverted their eyes and started edging away awkwardly the moment that Judy had pulled Sam and Carly out of nowhere. The only people left around who were actually paying attention were Judy, Ron (who was still trying to hide behind a very unsure Bumblebee), and for some godforsaken reason Ratchet, who was leaning against the aluminum side of the hangar and watching them very carefully. He looked as though he couldn’t quite grasp what was going on, but was shamelessly entertained nonetheless.

 _Great, I’ve become the next subject for Ratchet’s human-watching exploits,_ thought Mikaela as she fixed Ratchet with a hard stare, trying to convey what was going through her mind. _Hope you’re learning something here, Doc. Like what_ not _to do when creating the guest list for your next party. …Or at least make a mental note to inform Optimus that he fucking owes me for this no matter how good his intentions were because this is downright awkward as_ fuck _._

Ratchet did not respond—the robot had doubtlessly guessed enough to know that it was not a great situation to interrupt, though, and was keeping quiet.

“Um, okay, right,” started Sam, taking a step closer to Mikaela while clearing his throat. Mikaela had to suppress a snort at how silly his pineapple-emblazoned dress shirt looked on him. Sam had never had the best fashion sense out of anyone she had ever met, but _honestly…_ “H-happy birthday, Mikaela. And uh, this-this is Carly, I don’t think you’ve met before… she’s my new, um… girlfriend.”

“How do you do,” said Carly cheerfully, not missing a beat as she held out her tanned hand for Mikaela to shake. The tall woman was as graceful as Sam was dorky and alarmingly pretty, dressed in a curve-hugging sky-blue dress that _almost_ (but not quite) put Mikaela’s own charcoal-black V-neck to shame. And she, like Sam and the rest of his family, was sporting a lei of flowers, and had pinned a comically overlarge false azalea of the same color to one side of her head. She also showed her teeth when she smiled—and happened to have the most blindingly white set that Mikaela had ever fricking laid eyes on. “ _Smashing_ party, this. Sam has told me so much about you—about how you helped him save the world and the Autobots from the Decepticons and all that. He speaks very highly of you—it’s an honor to finally meet you.”

Now, normally Mikaela would have made a point of being very civil to Sam in front of company such as his family, potential NEST officials, and Optimus, but despite how little she’d admit to still having feelings about Sam after their break-up, that good old green-eyed monster called ‘jealousy’ had still managed to rear its ugly head and before Mikaela knew what she was doing, she was in full-on ‘fight me’ mode and could not help but to say something she was probably going to regret later. Oh, well.

“Oh, I’m doing great, actually, thank you for asking,” she’d said almost as smoothly as Carly, because snide remarks stung just that much more when they were delivered with unwavering, seemingly-tactful grace—and this was something that Mikaela was very good at. “And Sam, you know, normally I’d say that I’m surprised that you actually managed to convince such a good-looking girl to date you but you know what? There’s no sense in pretending that girls don’t have a weakness for little dork-boys who can’t stop trying to be heroes. Because we do. Isn’t that right, Carly?”

Carly’s brilliant smile faltered. “U-um, I guess?” she said, looking very confused.

“Exactly. But as absolutely _cute_ as that whole act is,” continued Mikaela sarcastically, adding a false laugh at the end, “Sam actually _is_ ridiculously fucking shallow.”

“What?” choked Sam, clearly offended. “ _Me_ , shallow? No. Pscht, I’m not shallow. _You’re_ the one who’s shallow, Mikaela. Ditching me to go and run off with some alien robot, probably only because his arms are the size of like ten train engines, or something stupid. Yeah, even humans aren’t enough for you anymore, are they, Mikaela, because you’re so _shallow_ —”

“ _Sam_!”

It had been Judy who had interrupted, staring at her son like she had never seen him before. “ _Apologize,_ right now!”

“But she started it, she did, I swear—”

“ _I don’t care_! This is Mikaela’s party, and I will not have you running around being rude and ruining it for her—”

“Who’s ruining it? You’re ruining it. Mom, you’re the one ruining it—”

“Ignore him, dear. He’s just sour because we’ve never thrown _him_ a surprise party for _his_ birthday, much less one with a theme! Here,” said Judy bossily, thrusting a cardboard box stuffed full of false leis into Sam’s arms before her son could object any further. “Make sure everyone gets one of these, Sam. Bumblebee said that Optimus didn’t _officially_ approve a Hawaiian theme, but how could you say no to a good old-fashioned luau?”

Choosing a scarlet lei from the box, Judy draped the fake flowers over Mikaela’s neck. Mikaela, whose hostility toward Sam was practically evaporating on the spot (as was the jealousy she’d felt towards Carly), was grinning at the sight of Sam struggling to keep the huge box upright while his mother dug through its contents before pulling out an enormous string of yellow garland.

“But, oh,” Judy said softly in disappointment. “I only had one of these left, and I doubt anything else is going to fit over the heads of these robots.”

Shoving one end of the string into one of Sam’s already overladen hands, Judy began to toss the other end of the string over Bumblebee’s shoulders while instructing the ‘bot to stay still. The poor Autobot let out a mortified whirr and beeped loudly, squirming, which prompted Judy to reprimand him by swatting the highest part of him that she could reach. “I said stay _still_ ,” she whined.

“Mom, what are you doing to my car?” asked Sam blankly, but Judy ignored him.

Mikaela, Sam, Carly, and Ron all watched her work with mystified expressions. Bee, who was switching between shooting desperate looks in Sam’s direction that very clearly read _please exercise some control over your mother_ , and a very disgruntled expression at Judy as he tried his best to wave her off of him without hurting her, emitting short little angry beeps all the while.

“ _There,_ ” said Judy finally, stepping back to admire the grand effect after spending a couple of minutes fighting with the garland. “Well? What do you think?”

“…He looks like a Christmas tree,” Sam said in a flat voice.

“Don’t be stupid,” interjected Carly with a scoff before flashing Bee a rather dazzling smile. “ _I_ think he looks gorgeous, don’t you, Mikaela?” she chuckled.

And as much as Mikaela found herself wanting to disagree with her just for the sake of disagreeing, she also realized that this was Carly’s way of trying to comfort the poor, clearly embarrassed Camaro—something that Bee looked like he very much needed. Following an encouraging nod from Judy (and a mental reminder from herself that Bee was her friend and if it had been _her_ in his position, she’d have taken a hammer _and_ a grinder to the pristine finish of his alt-mode if he had dared to laugh at her), Mikaela cleared her throat and fixed Bee with the warmest, most loving smile possible and told him in the most honest voice that she could muster that she also thought that he really did look fucking handsome as all hell and that she was being serious.

Bumblebee gave her a look that said quite plainly that he absolutely did not believe a word she had said, but before she could try to further convince the younger ‘bot, Optimus had returned with pretty much zero warning and it was his the vibration of his endlessly steady, gravelly voice right in her freaking _ear_ mingled with the way that he had, unbeknownst to her, leant down directly behind her so that she could physically _feel_ the warmth of his ex-venting against her exposed back _. …_ Which was about all it took to send a wave of heat rushing to her face and a cluster of visible shivers down her spine.

 _Holy fuck if I didn’t need a shot of whiskey after all of this already I sure do need one now_ was all that she could think _._ He really could be drop-dead, ovary-murderingly sexy sometimes without even realizing what he was doing. So help her god if the super-hot Autobot commander ever perfected the art of seducing her because as it was, it had taken him about point-two-four of a second to make her question whether she had actually forgotten to put on underwear this morning or if it was he who had made her feel like they might spontaneously turn to dust of their own accord.

“And why may you be referring to my soldier as, to put it in your own words: ‘fucking handsome as all hell’?” Optimus positively growled right on cue, placing his surprisingly warm, smooth forefinger and thumb against her shoulders and spinning her around ever so gently to face him. “You may cause a ‘bot such as I to become—as you may also say—jealous, by suggesting such things, Mikaela.”

Optimus’s optics flared softly in a playfully predatory sort of way. Mikaela could do nothing but stare at him.

 _Make that two shots of whiskey, actually. Or maybe just give me the entire goddamn bottle and I’ll down it all in one go if he keeps this up._ Fuck.

She had never heard the Autobot leader use a human curse before. Point to him, he was only quoting what she had said to Bee, but that didn’t make it any less hot, holy shit. And the entirely sensual, _seductive_ way he’d said it while he’d still been ex-venting hot against her goosebump-covered back was hotter than the surface of the fricking sun itself. Mikaela felt herself burning up as her face instantly flushed deep red. He was outright shamelessly _flirting_ with her in public.

He almost _never_ did that.

“U-um,” she stammered eventually, swallowing hard but choking a bit on her saliva as her mouth had rapidly become uncomfortably dry. “I was—w-we were just—”

“We were just dressing him up,” said Judy absent-mindedly, still working away with the garland. She had made Bumblebee sit down so that she could clamber up onto his knee to pull at it in a way that was very obviously irritating to the smaller ‘bot. Bee was making nearly painful-sounding digital noises very similar to a row of sneezes. “Hold _still_! You fidget even more than Sam did when he was a baby and it was time for a diaper change—”

“Ahem,” coughed Optimus pointedly.

“O-oh!” said Judy, finally realizing that Optimus was speaking. She immediately dropped the strand of garland that she had been tugging on. “Hey—oh, oh my hello there, you’re, um—huge. Were you this big the last time we saw you, too?”

“ _Judy_!” called out Ron, sounding absolutely scandalized.

“What? I’m just being honest,” Judy continued, looking the enormous robot up and down like she’d never seen something so weirdly attractive before, much to Mikaela and Sam’s displeasure. “My memory of the last time we’d met is a little fuzzy.”

“Understandable,” replied Optimus in a very level voice. “As was mine, I believe.”

“Oh oh, that’s right, you were dead!” exclaimed Judy. “You were dead, until Sam did the thing with the thingymabobber—”

“ _Mom_!”

“ _What_?” But Judy did not wait for Sam to answer. Instead, she regarded Optimus again. “Gosh you know, you are _enormous._ It’s no wonder Mikaela feels very, um, safe around you—”

“Judy!” yelled Ron, the color of his face changing from ruddy red to purple faster than blinking. “That’s _not_ the kind of thing you say to someone!”

“It is quite all right. No offense was taken,” Optimus shrugged it off and looked down at Mikaela with a shadow of his version of a wink. Mikaela stared up at him with utter amazement. What had gotten into him? He hadn’t had a drink of high grade already, had he? Mikaela glanced toward the entrance of the Autobot’s hangar. There was a lot of liquor in there… “And yes, Judy—I am aware that my size can be, ah, somewhat…”

 _A massive turn-on? Thrillingly visually dominating and sexy as all hell?_ answered Mikaela’s brain before Judy could.

“A little overwhelming?” suggested Judy. “Maybe a _lot_ overwhelming?”

 “ _MOM_!”

“Oh, Sam, be quiet. Fine—‘mortally terrifying’, then. Happy?”

“That is not exactly the descriptive phrase I would have hoped that one would choose to use on me,” said Optimus, looking somewhat put-out. “Perhaps that is more suitable for a Decepticon—”

“What are you, then, according to _you_? A cuddly teddy bear?” grinned Judy.

“I—”

“ _Ahem_ ,” coughed Mikaela pointedly before Optimus could answer. “Can we uh, change the subject?”

“Yeah, let’s,” agreed Sam wholeheartedly.

“Of course,” Optimus said smoothly. “…You two were just about to inform me as to why my soldier Bumblebee here has been covered in strings of … decorative material.”

Bee beeped sadly in the background with perfect timing.

“Right,” said Mikaela thoughtfully. “That—”

“—Is because _every_ party is better with a theme and I thought Mikaela would dearly _love_ a Hawaiian themed birthday party, don’t you? And plus, doesn’t Bumblebee look just plain _adorable_ in this stuff?” supplied Judy.

Torn between amusement at the look on Optimus’s face (which part furious part amazed and said clearly that he was now regretting not brainstorming this ‘incredible idea’ with Lennox or whoever himself) and heartbreak at the helpless expression on Bee’s, Mikaela decided to take one for the team and help Bee out as much as she could because he looked like he was the one who could use some reassurance the most. “Oh yeah, like I said,” she nodded at Judy. “Absolutely fucking handsome, I can’t even. But y’know, it does seem to be a bit of a _constricting_ outfit. Don’t you think he’d be a little more, ah, comfortable with a smaller one of those flower things? Not to say that it isn’t adorable as all hell, though.”

Bee let out a rather thankful-sounding whirr, perking up hopefully.

“Nonesense,” said Judy. “If it’s going to be a themed party, _everyone_ needs to dress up. _Including you,_ big boy,” she nodded at Optimus.

And if Mikaela had previously had any doubts on whether or not Sam’s mother had a batshit-crazy-ass-Mom-mode that could be activated as fast and as sudden as a bolt of lightning and was potent enough to make Megatron himself cower and run for cover, then they were completely and totally obliterated by what happened next. Because that woman straight-up _scaled_ the Autobot leader with in a fury of passion armed with nothing but a fistful of leis. She moved so fast it nearly put Mikaela to shame, and the next thing that anyone knew Optimus was staggering as though knocked half-backwards in shock and with no less than three brilliant blue leis tied around his neck and a red one perched haphazardly dangling over one of his audial finials like a particularly ugly flower crown.

“Adorable,” beamed Judy from back on the ground at his feet. “And absolutely handsome, right, Mikaela?”

“Uh—” said Mikaela, not yet recovered enough to form words. “…I think I need to sit down. And I think I need a drink. Or several,” she wheezed.

Judy nodded sympathetically. “I think that’s an excellent idea. And something to eat wouldn’t be too bad either, would it?—Oh, shoot. I almost forgot—we’ve made you a cake for the occasion, too. …Ron,” she said, looking around for her husband. “Ron? Has anyone seen Ron?”

“He’s over there, at the bar,” sighed Sam. “Mom are you _sure_ I can’t—”

“Absolutely not, Sam, you’re not old enough until October. Now will you run and grab the pineapple cake from the car for your father?”

Sam folded his arms across his chest and glared at his mother stubbornly. “Not unless I’m allowed to have a drink, too.”

“Oh, _fine_. I’ll do it myself. Because you are _not_ under any circumstances going anywhere near that bar, Sam Witwicky.”

And with that, Judy turned with a huff and walked off to find said pineapple-flavoured cake, disappearing into the gathering darkness. Sam, Mikaela, Carly, Bumblebee, and Optimus all watched her leave, each looking more baffled than the next.

“Is she always that, ah…” started Optimus, breaking the heavy silence.

“Crazy?” supplied Sam. “Absolutely mental? Yeah. Pretty much. And she’s not even got started yet. You’d all better hope she agrees to let Dad take us home before she has anything to drink.”

“Oh, no,” Mikaela groaned.

“Speaking of drinks,” said Optimus finally, “How are you finding your birth-date celebrations to be so far, Mikaela? Would you say that they are they are, ah, satisfyingly _surprising_?”

Mikaela considered this for a moment. She had to swallow down the immediate urge to lie through her teeth and tell Optimus with a false grin that she was absolutely enjoying herself, but this was before she had realized that _hey_ , she actually _was_ kind of enjoying herself quite a bit and that the smile spreading across her face was indeed not false in the slightest. And even though things were already as fricking awkward and weird as only a party between alien robot boyfriend and friends and human ex-boyfriend and family could be, she had to admit that there were some …compensating factors.

Namely that Optimus _did_ look hella cute in his leis, like some bizarre, tribal-esque fusion of mechanical alien and jungle warrior boyfriend. A very _hot_ jungle warrior alien boyfriend.

“You know, so far, I think they have been,” Mikaela answered him at length, letting a suave little smile pull at her lipstick-lined lips. “But I can think of a couple of things that would make them even better, boss... if you’d pour a girl a drink, for starters.”

There was no doubt about it, this time. Optimus Prime had winked at her. “It would be my honour, Mikaela.”


	4. A Very Awkward Conversation

**Part 4**

.

Mikaela’s drink of choice was a whiskey-and-coke.

She was the only girl she knew that genuinely liked the taste of it. There was just something about the sweet, syrupy way the coke mixed with the harshness of the whiskey that made it one of the only drinks she could handle sipping all night without getting too drunk. The kind of buzz she’d get off of the sugar alone practically promised that the good times were rolling, and the many fuzzy memories she’d had half-wasted on the stuff made her wonder sometimes if it hadn’t been magic instead of whiskey that she’d been nursing from her cup.

But she always, _always_ remembered to stay sober enough to at least walk herself home. That was important, Mikaela had learned; it was super important to keep your wits about you when you were drinking. There were far, far too many people out there who were all-too-willing to take advantage of a young woman, especially of one who was drunk—so nope, no thanks, no white-girl-wasted for Mikaela if she could help it, no sirrie. Because as much as Mikaela did resemble ‘those kinds’ of girls—the ones that you could easily find in just about any night club, dressed to the nines and hot-to-trot on any sweltering midsummer Saturday night—Mikaela was different.

A rebel girl attitude and a near-fetish for frayed, short skirts, chrome studded leather jackets, and rumbling motorcycles did not automatically mean she was stupid. Mikaela was far from stupid, and that meant that she fully believed in drinking responsibly and taking care of herself. Even when scumbags like her ex _ex-_ boyfriend Trent had partied with her. No, scratch that, _especially_ when guys like Trent were around.

Because guys like Trent—with their big muscles and fancy Hummers that mommy bought for them on their sixteenth birthdays—had this kind of power trip. They were forceful and mean and never listened when you said no to them, no matter how much you meant it. They were the kinds of guys that you could never really trust to get wasted around, for fear of being pressured sexually, and you could bet on them hurling abuse at you if you actually _did_ manage to find a way to talk yourself out of the situation. They just couldn’t _take_ it, how ‘bad’ you were making them look in front of their friends—at which point you’d have to really watch your back, because ten to one they’d probably ditch you right then and there and leave you to find your own way home, or worse, slip something nasty into your drink when you weren’t looking.

This had been part of the reason why Mikaela had been so willing to give Sam a chance. There was only so much bullshit a woman could handle before she snapped and said fuck it. Fuck the muscles. Fuck the nice cars. She’d rather have the dorkiness. And that was Sam—Sam was her version of ‘screw it, I’ve tried everything else, and now I’m trying this’.

Sam, though, for his part, had not really been that bad of a boyfriend. He had not been an asshole, and he really did have a cute, endlessly sweet side to him. What _had_ killed the mood in the end, however, was how frustratingly immature he could be once the adrenaline rush from the countless battles they’d faced together had worn off. So, in addition to being really freaking done with dating assholes, Mikaela was also really done with dating little boys that had excuses for everything and who still lived at home with their parents.

Gorgeous girls like Mikaela deserved more. Gorgeous girls who were hot, sexy, and newly twenty-one and _god damn it_ , she _deserved_ a man. A _real_ man. Someone mature, and loyal, and respectful, and goddang intelligent—and god bless heaven, mother earth, the Cybertronian god Primus and everything in between all of them because this was exactly what kind of boyfriend she had tonight. Optimus Prime was god’s gift to humanity (and to Cybertronians themselves, of course).

There were so many great things about Optimus. For example, his absolutely jelly-legs-inducing _voice_ that she could never, ever—no matter how much time she spent around the Autobot leader—fully get over. Optimus was seriously the best thing—he was gorgeous, sweet, caring, wise, dorky in all the right ways, and was even cuddly at all the right times. Plus, being with him meant that she got to look forward to staring into those near-perfect optics near every weekend, all weekend. _Dang._

Yup, Mikaela would unabashedly admit to just about anyone that she was pretty much ruined for human males indefinitely by this point, because Optimus had it _all_ and then some. And she’d also admit that she’d become fully, irreversibly attracted to robots thanks to him, too, with zero regrets—one-hundred-and-twenty percent down to ‘face, do data exchange, whatever. Once you go Cybertronian, you never go back… _Is that your drive shaft, or are you just happy to see me? Are you parallel or serial, baby, because I’ve got a hard on for hard drives and I gotta say, your dongle is looking fiiiine as all hell, Optimus Prime._ Was sex with a member of an alien robot species unadvisable? Potentially dangerous? Possibly downright disturbing and not for the faint of heart? Probably, but Mikaela had only three words to say about that: cling clang, motherfucker. Life’s great when your boyfriend is an actual sex machine.

So it was only natural that Mikaela could not help but check out the big Autobot leader’s aft as he walked away to grab them their drinks. It was, in all honesty, a super-fine aft, and she was no more than your average human woman who absolutely had currently-very-unfulfilled needs. _Shameless_ unfulfilled needs that of course led to very shameless unfulfilled staring. _Yowza_.

Mikaela felt her mouth start to water. She couldn’t even _remember_ the last time they’d done anything more sexual together than going for a nice long, ‘relaxing’ (okay more like way too freakin’ vanilla) _drive,_ wink wink. Optimus was a very busy dude and hell, she respected him for that, but at the same time she was fast-reaching a point where, size difference be damned, she wanted _on_ that metal cock like no tomorrow, even if it meant she’d have to scale the bloody thing and dry hump it until she was either going to have a grand mal or le petit mort (or maybe both, if he was good enough).

Mikaela continued to watch the Autobot leader’s hips swing as he walked. _Is he doing that on purpose?_ she wondered, gritting her teeth with teeth-shattering force. _The freaking tease. The nerve of him… acting like he really thinks he knows what teasing_ is _... ha, I’ll show_ him _…_

Mikaela was brought back to reality by the somewhat unpleasant sound of Sam clearing his throat loudly. She hadn’t noticed Bee leaving shortly after Optimus had, which meant that she, Carly, and Sam were now the only ones left outside on the airstrip’s asphalt, and the latter was looking at Mikaela as though he’d just taken a very potent shot of very horrible whiskey and was fully suffering the consequences of it.

Sam’s eyes met Mikaela’s and she tried to rearrange her face into a nonchalant expression, totally aware of how flushed her cheeks were but not really caring, because Optimus was hot. So what if Sam had seen her looking at his aft?

“Could you, like, try _not_ to undress Optimus with your eyes in front of us?” he groaned with a grimace. “It’s really, really weird, if I’m honest. And creepy. Like. _Really creepy._ ”

Mikaela shrugged, grinning unapologetically as Optimus paused in his quest for drinks to talk to one very excitable Major Lennox. “There’s not a lot that’s there to undress,” she said truthfully, thinking of the way the bits of armour that hung down low from Optimus’s groin like some kind of tribal alien loin cloth (and didn’t quite cover all the areas a loin cloth _should_ have covered, hoo-ooly hell) moved with him whenever he walked in a hypnotizing kind of way. “But sure. If it makes you feel that uncomfortable, I’ll stop.” _Or_ try _to stop. Can’t promise anything at this point…_

Carly scoffed and rolled her eyes at her boyfriend. “Oh _Sam_. Mikaela has every right to have a look at him—they’re _dating_ , remember?”

Sam made a strangled noise that was meant to be partially false laughter before sinking into a genuine coughing fit. Carly thumped him hard on the back. “S-sorry, Mikaela,” he wheezed, partially out-of-breath. “But it’s just—he’s _Optimus Prime,_ y’know? He’s an _ancient Cybertronian war hero who we resurrected from the dead last summer._ He’s not some—some guy who you can just gawk at whenever you please. He’s an _alien_. A _giant_ ancient alien. Who also happens to hold the matrix of leadership. He’s a _prime,_ Mikaela! That’s like, half-a-god, to them! You—you wouldn’t stare at Zeus like that!”

 _But wouldn’t I,_ she thought, but decided not to say this aloud.

It was Carly’s turn to shrug. “I think you’re overreacting, Sam,” she said softly, patting him affectionately on the arm. “The normal rules of society don’t always apply to things like love and attraction, and I’m sure it works the same way for Optimus and his kind. Optimus and Mikaela are obviously together because they care for and like each other a lot. So what if that means she’s attracted to an alien? I still think that’s lovely. We all need a little more love in this world, even if it’s cross-species. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Mikaela nodded passionately. Damn it all, she’d been so determined not to like this gorgeous, tall, elegant young woman out of spite alone (because who _did_ get along with the girlfriends of their ex boyfriends at first, anyway—no one, that’s who), but if she kept saying things like this, Mikaela was going to have to break down and admit that Carly, at least, had some sense in her head.

“Yeah, but—” Sam started, but Carly interrupted him.

“Being in l _ove_ doesn’t make you mental,” she said dreamily. “Optimus seems like a smashing chap, Mikaela. I haven’t known him for very long, so I’m going based almost entirely on what Sam’s said about him, but he’s clearly a really talented leader and a totally genuine, protective person. And that’s hard to come across these days.” Carly wrinkled her nose as Sam stuck his fingers into his mouth and mimed gagging. “Oh, real mature, Sam—it’s not like Optimus is bad looking. I haven’t a clue why you’re so bothered by this. _You’re_ the one that’s been harbouring no less than _three_ alien robots in your house for the past two or more years. And I’m getting tired of pulling Brains and Wheelie out of my _underwear drawer._ ”

Sam did not comment on this, and continued to gape at Mikaela as though she was morphing into some kind of human-alien hybrid machine right before his very eyes. “You do both realize that he’s like, _thirty feet tall_ , right?” he said faintly.

“Uh, _yes_?!” answered Mikaela forcefully, thinking _he_ was the crazy one for saying that like it was a bad thing. Because in all honesty, thirty feet tall was attractive as _fuck._

“Exactly my point,” nodded Carly with shared enthusiasm. “He’s extremely tall and made of metal and it’s the stuff that humanity has been fantasizing about for centuries for a reason—he could take over for a Greek God and no one would know the difference. Like you said yourself, Sam. He’s like… Zeus, or something.”

“Okay no. No, no, no, no, no,” Sam was shaking his head violently. “I don’t care _what_ kind of fantasies Mikaela or anyone else has been having about Optimus, and I don’t really want to know about any of them—all I know is that it just. Wouldn’t. _Work._ There’s no way that she could. Uh. Yeah.”

Mikaela raised a curious eyebrow at her ex. _He doesn’t mean what I_ think _he means, does he?_ she wondered, but Sam’s face growing increasingly red was a dead giveaway. So, her ex-boyfriend was trying to imagine how the, ah, _mechanics_ of robot sex worked, was he? _Well then…_

It was an opportunity too good to miss. Even though Mikaela had mostly forgiven Sam for showing up largely uninvited (in her opinion, at least) to her birthday party, she couldn’t resist the idea of messing around with him just a little. Make him earn his stay by amusing her, and all. Optimus did not show signs of returning as of yet, anyways, and Mikaela didn’t really feel all that into following the ‘bot inside—the interior of the large, normally-roomy hangar was cramped and noisy and through the open doors she could see that Major Lennox (who had climbed up onto a catwalk so that he could talk with Optimus face-to-face) still had the Autobot leader’s attention and was violently brandishing some kind of white tarp thing covered with darkish colored circles that looked suspiciously like a Twister mat.

Mikaela shook her head to clear the weird image. “There’s no way I could _what_?” she asked, keeping her voice as steady and as innocent-sounding as she could while delighting in the way Sam’s previously flushed face dropped a few shades. “Care to explain what the heck you’re talking about?”

For a moment, it looked like Sam was not going to take the bait and had mentally refused to pursue the subject further. However, his curiosity eventually won out against his self-control and he blurted, “ _I mean_ how in the name of freaking planet Cybertron do you guys have _sex_? Holy god the dude must have a dick the size of a military-grade cannon! You’d _die_! It would _kill_ you! I mean, I know you can be a little kinkier than I am, but jesus, Mikaela—”

“Sam…” said Carly warningly. “It shouldn’t matter, not every relationship needs to be sexual—”

“Carly, trust me, it matters. Size _matters_ , okay. How would _you_ feel if you could never have sex with your boyfriend because his dick was too… too _large_?”

“Mmm, just as tactless as ever, Sam,” purred Mikaela in a smooth, almost seductive voice with only half her mind on the conversation. The mention of the Autobot leader’s ‘pride’ had gunned her imagination back into overdrive as she recalled a particular weekend not too long ago when Optimus himself had been suffering through the symptoms of extreme sexual frustration.

The poor Autobot leader had had a legit _hard_ time ‘composing himself’ for long enough to leave his quarters and go about his regular daily duties when he had a fox of a woman on his berth all weekend long that was more than happy to curl up against his warm, smooth chest plates and fondle them exactly how he’d liked. It had all started with a wash, but it ended in a wax-and-polish (can you say ‘happy ending’?), and long gone were the relatively innocent days when Mikaela had thought that Optimus had no wild side, thank god—he still didn’t have the time to mess around as much as she’d have liked him to, but at least she did get to catch a rare glimpse of a ferociously horny Optimus Prime every now again and by _god_ was it ever beautiful.

 _Ugh._ Mikaela’s eyes were totally glossed over by the time she’d answered Sam’s question. “What, his interface tool?” she said dreamily. “Oh, _hell_ yeah. It’s pretty fucking huge, not gonna lie.”

Carly’s sudden enthusiasm caught both her and Sam off guard. “Really?” she demanded curiously, persevering even under the withering look that Sam was giving her. “Um like, _huge_ huge, or huge just because _he’s_ huge?”

This was probably the only thing capable of snapping Mikaela out of her hormone-fuelled stupor. She snorted in spite of herself. “I dunno, do I look like I’m an expert on Cybertronian cock sizes?” she laughed. “It’s not like I’ve got a frame of reference, exactly, and there’s no way in _hell_ I’m about to ask _any_ of the other dudes how ‘big’ they are down there…” _Most of them would be just a liiittle too happy to divulge that kind of TMI,_ she thought to herself, remembering how even now, it seemed like every time Prime’s back was turned to them, one of the Autobot mechs was shamelessly hitting on her. Namely Ironhide, who was the wannabe master-of-seduction himself (who actually _was_ pretty damn suave, maybe even a little too much for his own good). _Ironhide would probably volunteer to give me a hands-on demonstration, the sick slagger…_ “If you guys really want to know the details for yourselves, why don’t you ask? I’ve never measured. I don’t exactly keep a meter stick on me,” she grinned.

“Meter stick…?” said Carly slowly, before blushing furiously—“Oh!”

“ _Carly_ ,” said Sam emphatically, clearly disliking the way his girlfriend was currently gazing in Optimus’s direction with a very curious look on her face—Major Lennox was _still_ hogging him all to himself, even though Optimus did look like he was trying really hard to escape (how many drinks had Lennox had by now, Mikaela wondered? He was still holding the Twister mat, but had now also managed to procure something that looked very much like a ridiculously ugly piñata). “ _Carly_! He’s an _alien_. A _giant alien who transforms into a semi-truck._ He’s not _human_ , don’t even _think_ about it, it’s not _normal_ —”

“No, it’s not, and that’s what makes it kind of exotic,” Carly teased even further as her and Mikaela exchanged a quick, meaningful, and subtly-amused glance—and Mikaela knew instantly that Carly was milking Sam’s discomfort at least a little bit for Mikaela’s entertainment. She felt a rush of affection toward the slender woman and resolved to buy her a drink sometime, whenever an opportunity came around where it wouldn’t be weird to do so. “A lot of girls have a thing for that sort of stuff. Really knocks their knickers to the floor—so yeah, totally, I can see why you’d be attracted to him, Mikaela.”

Mikaela felt herself flushing, and not just because of the topic of conversation but also because Optimus had finally excused himself from Lennox’s piñata and was making his way over to the bar. She was watching his legs as he went and _damn_ that robot was fine. “Oh, you have _no_ idea,” Mikaela nearly groaned, barely even noticing the look of revulsion on Sam’s face. All she could do was remember exactly how _warm_ it felt to climb between those massively powerful thighs. “He’s hot _and_ good in bed.”

This was too much for Sam. He nearly shrieked, his voice cracking awkwardly as his whole body shuddered in disgust. “Too far. _Too_ far, Mikaela! I know you’ve got to be messing with me. I _know_ you haven’t actually _done it_ , okay? I’m not that stupid, and I can tell when you’re trying to screw around. Like _now._ ”

“No, I can guarantee you that it isn’t _you_ I’m trying to screw with tonight,” Mikaela chuckled evilly. “But really though, I’m not lying. Optimus is better than you were. And you know I’m telling the truth, because you can’t give me one good reason of why the fuck I wouldn’t have already hit that, can you?”

“Well, uh, no, not really…” Sam said slowly.

“Exactly. I’d have to be _crazy_ not to hit that. Seriously, it’s like Carly said, he’s a fucking metal _god_. And no, Sam, size isn’t that _big_ of an issue, haha, pun intended—if you could pretend for just _one_ second that you actually have _some_ semblance of sexual imagination, and then maybe you could think of some ways in which a girl can get freaky with a giant robot that transforms into a Peterbilt truck. And just because I know you and I know that you probably can’t, I’ve got two words for you: _gear stick_ , if you know what I mean.” Mikaela wiggled her eyebrows at him mischievously.

“…Oh, oh wow,” said Carly with wide eyes ( _blink, Carly, blink,_ Mikaela thought) before she turned to Sam, took one look at his face, and pulled him into an apologetic hug. He looked just about ready to give up all hope and _beg_ his mother for a ride back home. “Okay, uh, cease fire, guys. I think that’s enough talk about robot, um— _equipment_ … even for me.”

“Fair enough.” Mikaela shrugged, admitting defeat. It wasn’t her intention to make Sam regret coming to her birthday party or _completely_ ruin his time, after all. She might not have liked the way in which their relationship had ended, or the immature way that he’d handled the breakup—but she was a long ways away from permanently hating the guy. He still did have a really good heart, and he was definitely someone who she’d rather keep as a friend than eventually become enemies with. “Sorry,” she added, biting her lip. She felt sort of guilty for making him so obviously uncomfortable and wanted to show that she meant her apology. “For real. I uh, might have gotten a little carried away, there. I apologize for that.”

Sam sniffed, but Mikaela caught the small, teasing grin on his face as he let go of Carly. “I knew something was wrong with you the moment you wouldn’t stop Wheelie from humping your leg,” he said, grinning in full. “I suppose I should have recognized the early warning signs that my girlfriend had roboerotic tendencies right from the start.”

Mikaela scoffed and swatted him on the shoulder playfully. “Oh, shut up. _Roboerotic tendencies_ , you can’t be serious.”

“…Come to think of it, where _is_ that little monster, Wheelie?” Carly wondered, looking around for the rowdy little minibot. “We should probably keep an eye on him. He’s way too much of a little troublemaker to be left on his own without proper adult supervision.”

“He doesn’t need us, Optimus’ll put him in his place if he needs it,” Sam reassured her. “Pretty sure that mech’s the only one who’d be capable of inspiring the fear of god in him. Nothing I say ever phases him…”

“Oooh, Wheelie?” Mikaela cheered, glancing around the empty airstrip as though half-expecting him to crawl out from behind a parked car. “Did you guys really bring him? I honestly miss that little brat so much sometimes. Bonecrusher’s great and I will always love him to bits but I gotta say, if I had to choose between having to spend an entire day with Wheelie or an entire day being slobbered on by Bonecrusher, I’d probably choose Wheelie.”

“I think he misses you too,” laughed Carly. “Miss _warrior goddess._ ”

“Ha!”

“Would you like to tell him exactly how much you’ve missed him?” said Sam, cocking an eyebrow at Mikaela. “Because I could go and find him…”

Giggling quietly, Mikaela turned around just in time to see Optimus finally heading towards them. He was carrying a very hefty-looking, Autobot-sized reinforced steel drinking tank in one hand, and with the other—balanced precariously between forefinger and thumb—was Mikaela’s own drink. He was walking slowly and deliberately, as though anxiously aware of the very real possibility of a misstep making him accidentally shatter the glass before he had the chance to hand it to its recipient.

“Oh my god,” was pretty much all Mikaela had the brainpower to whisper to herself before he was kneeling down in front of her and staring at her with those all-seeing, soul-searching eyes. And she had thought that _she_ was the deer in headlights…

“Your drink,” he rumbled smoothly with a small smile, holding out the glass. Mikaela took it, feeling like her knees could give out at any moment and she’d keel over backwards dead, while Optimus gestured to his own mug. “And I have mine. What should we drink to?”

“Um…” said Mikaela, wishing her brain would stop buzzing and start working properly again to no avail. “Uh. World peace?” _Oh god oh god that’s dumb as heck. Oops…_

A disturbing snorting sound brought her back to earth and both she and Optimus turned around to see Sam sinking to the ground, shaking with badly-supressed laughter. “I can’t believe this,” he gasped between giggles. “I’m actually going to have a heart attack.”

Optimus looked incredibly alarmed. “Are you certain? I will comm our CMO right away—”

“No, no, don’t do that. It’s a _figure of speech_ ,” choked Sam. “I’m okay!”

Optimus, however, did not look fully convinced. “…Then why are you exhaling so forcefully? If you cannot breathe—”

“I can breathe, I swear.” Sam was obviously regretting his decision to break out in helpless, silent giggles over the sight of the extremely large Autobot leader kneeling down to speak with his comparatively tiny human romantic charge. “I—it’s nothing, I’m, ah. Fine. Maybe I just need something to drink, too, I think that will, um, help… Carly, do you want to—?”

“Sure,” she answered him promptly, grateful for an excuse to give Mikaela and Optimus some private time alone together. “That sounds good to me!”

“Drinks?” repeated Optimus, frowning down at Sam. “…I think not. Your mother said—”

“What, are you going to report me for having a glass of orange juice?”

“No, but—”

“Chillax, Optimus. I promise it’ll be _just_ orange juice. You can taste it yourself if you don’t believe me,” he grumbled, linking arms with Carly as pulled her away toward the bar.

Optimus seemed satisfied enough with this as he watched the two of them disappear. Mikaela still couldn’t help but marvel over how deeply the Autobot leader still cared for Sam’s wellbeing, even after Sam had outright told him that he was very much done with having anything to do with the Autobots’ or NEST’s affairs in the war. Mikaela had found his refusal to continue to help to be extremely cold; it had been the subject of more than half a dozen arguments between them, and his selfishness on the subject might have had more than a little to do with their breakup, not that she’d ever want to admit it to herself.

Still though. Optimus’s ability to care so deeply about his friends was an incredibly admirable trait.

“Well, I suppose that is fine…” Optimus hummed absent-mindedly at the two’s backs before he remembered what he was doing. “Ah, Mikaela—where were we? I believe we were going to drink to ‘world peace’… and I quite like that idea. It is something we could all benefit from, even if I must partially insist that we drink to you as well, as it is your birth-date… and tonight is supposed to be _yours._ ”

Optimus’s eyes shone with the strength and genuineness of his feelings as he spoke. It was so intense that Mikaela could feel her chest tighten of its own accord while her face burned. “That was a joke,” she squeaked, unable to help feeling somewhat embarrassed. “But if you really liked it that much—then sure, why don’t we drink to both?”

“Another great idea, Mikaela. To world peace, then. And also to Miss Mikaela Banes, who is currently the most beautiful woman to ever turn twenty-one in the history of planet Earth.”

He finished this off with making this very seductive, mechanical whirring sound that Mikaela knew he only did when he was trying (and succeeding) at being sexy—it was her absolute favorite. A low, drawn-out ex-vent, almost like a purr more than a growl, complete with lowered optic shields and a super laid-back, content expression—the kind he only did when he really _was_ at peace with the world. The kind he only did when he was with _her_.

“I’ll—I’ll drink to that,” she stuttered, knocking her tiny glass against his huge steel Autobot-tankard with a quiet clink.

And they both drank deeply, then—Mikaela downing at least half of the glass’s syrupy-sweet contents in one go (liquid courage was a must when you were faced with the prospect of a night spent entirely in the company of an enormous shed packed with rowdy Autobots, ex-boyfriends, and one gorgeous Autobot leader), and sighed contentedly.

_That’s the stuff._

Optimus eventually lowered his mug, too, and fixed her with his most intense stare yet. “I would like to request something…” he said slowly and particularly carefully, as though he were weighing every single word in his mind before he spoke them. “In advance of you beginning to fully enjoy your much-deserved birth date celebration…”

“Sure,” said Mikaela, sipping from her glass again. “Shoot.”

“I would like you to take a short walk with me,” he said calmly, the vibration of his deep, gravelly voice resonating inside of her chest this close-to. “I wish to enjoy your company, alone, if it is all right—before any of our friends can intercept us—as I have seen that already many of them have discovered the barrels of high-grade we have had stored in the warehouse for some time, as well as the liquor that Lennox has brought. Doubtlessly your company will be the most sought after tonight in due time, you being as beautiful as you are… and although I fully intend to outdo any mech—or man, for that matter—that may wish to steal your attention, I must admit that the idea of being the first mech to ask you if—if, ah… if you would like to—to _dance_ with me—is of great importance to me.”

The silence that stretched between them was as so thick and heavy with anticipation and expectation that she felt like she could practically reach out and _touch_ it.

“I… wow…” she managed finally.

“Though if you don’t want to…” Optimus continued in an uncharacteristically high voice. “I will understand… I am not, as you might say, potentially the best partner for dancing, if you are judging based on how large I am and how small you are… but I can promise that I am a lot more graceful than it may appear, and that no harm will come to you if you wish to proceed.”

 _Dancing._ Mikaela took one deep, dizzying breath. “God damned nonsense,” she said quite a lot more confidently than she felt. Because it wasn’t every day that Optimus asked someone to bloody well _dance_ with him, and the heaviness and vulnerable anticipation he felt had still not left his voice. “I’d love to, Optimus.”


End file.
